Unshackled
by Calico West
Summary: A tumbleweed wagon and its desperate occupant start Jess on a fight for his life where he ends up battling more than just the outlaw's wrath.
1. Chapter 1

**Unshackled**

****Chapter One

Every story where tragedy filled its core had to begin somewhere. At times, the man who would become centered in the tale had nothing to do with its origins, for what would lead up to the incident that later involved him were in the hands of someone else first. There was a man whose criminal choices in his life had brought him to a place where no man, even those as vile as he, had ever wanted to be, but he was there, somewhere in the remotest regions of Wyoming Territory, and he wasn't alone. This man was being escorted to prison in the only way a convicted man could expect to travel, harshly, but rather necessarily. Based on his will for freedom and survival, his actions in this place would soon touch more than just his own life. There was another man on the returned trail to a ranch just outside of Laramie who didn't know it just yet.

The sun was high in the sky, baking the ground with its insufferable heat where not even the wind that whipped over the dry land brought any relief. Inside a tumbleweed wagon, even though hidden from the sun, the temperature was even hotter. If there had been any water left in the little pail underneath the single barred window, it would likely have been boiling. There was more outside, the occupant of the wagon could hear it sloshing in the barrel, but he, being the desperate criminal that he was, wouldn't be allotted another refill of his share until the wagon pulled up for the night. At least, that's what one of the men wearing the tin star had said. Maybe he shouldn't have eagerly poured the tepid liquid down his throat all throughout the morning, but when one was baking in a rolling oven, it was either let it evaporate into thin air or attempt to quench his constant thirst. The latter won until there was none.

The thought of the lawmen on their seemingly never ending quest to deliver him to prison brought a bitter taste to his tongue and he attempted to spit, but there was nothing in his mouth but sand to sputter through his lips. Strange that he could be locked inside and still be choking on the dust as if he rode on a mount like Marshal Mays out there alongside the wagon, but there was little satisfaction knowing that the lawman in charge was probably eating more of the desolate earth than he was. At least he was a free man, and that went as well for the deputy, sheriff, or whatever was blazoned on the other star fastened underneath the vest of the man that led the team of horses, whatever his name was.

There was no mystery to his own handle, though, not even the scorching heat could fry his brain enough to make him forget why the law had finally caught up with him. Wanted posters with Bruce Stahl printed in bold ink had been circulating for a few years already and if he hadn't made such a blatant mistake in Sheridan when he'd murdered a man who was romancing the girl he was sweet on in front of witnesses no less, he wouldn't be where he was now. Bruce almost wished the judge had sentenced him to hang, for the torture he was now enduring was much worse. Hanging agony only lasts a few minutes, but he'd been traveling in this brutal contraption for the past four days, with each day getting worse than the one before, a suffering that had no foreseeable end.

Bruce stood, the irons on his feet clanking at the movement as he shuffled toward the rear of the wagon. They felt heavier than when they'd first been fastened to his ankles and the matching set attached to his wrists, but anything would, since his own bodyweight without the oversized jewelry that he was forced to wear had drastically diminished in the past few weeks. He reached for his belt and gave it a tug, knowing that without it being cinched to its tightest form his trousers wouldn't be anywhere near his waistline.

Bruce had always been a thin man, but once he started running from the law, eating a decent meal wasn't his top priority and even before he was caught it began to show. The jail in Sheridan he had hoped would have delivered at least something wholesome, but the local law was a firm believer in serving its prisoners bread and water and after the judge sentenced him to twenty years in prison, waiting for the tumbleweed wagon to show under the leadership of Marshal Mays and company, his frame looked more like a gangly teenager's body than the thirty-year-old man that he actually was. But Bruce didn't think like a kid or act like one either, and he'd already created several man sized plans in his head to attempt an escape if the right opportunity arose, and unbeknownst to him, the lawmen, and a rider somewhere off in the distance, one was fast approaching.

The wagon lurched, making Bruce fall on his backside, but he didn't rub the tender spot as he regained his stance, but wrapped his dirt crusted fingers around the bars as he peered through the narrow opening. There was nothing to see other than endless dust, as the road was clear from rocks, but apparently not free from ruts. A wheel dipped into another and as his body jerked to the side, making the chains on his wrists dance in a side to side rhythm, he barked a retort to the driver, but like all of his other comments that he'd made since being boarded in the enclosed wooden box, they went ignored.

Bruce continued to watch through the window for what seemed like a long time, although ten minutes under normal circumstances wasn't a lengthy time at all. In his situation, however, the short span felt like an eternity, and then in the frustrated silence, he pulled one foot back as far as the chain would allow with the intent to kick the wall of the wagon, but before his toe hit the side, the wagon came to an abrupt stop. Bruce flattened his body to see at an angle outside of the window as Marshal Mays rode by, not flicking his high and mighty eyes in his direction even once. Something was wrong, and if it was serious enough, Bruce knew that this could be the moment he'd long been waiting for.

By sound alone, Bruce was able to deduce the situation not long after the lawmen had. The wagon was fine, one of the horses, not so much. The vocal tones were too serious for something as simple as a thrown shoe. Injured, more than likely in one of the ditch sized ruts that they'd recently rolled through, but knowing the severity would have to wait. Bruce, even though he didn't think much of his fellow man at times, would never wish ill fate to any animal, but he was selfish enough to harbor a hope that this unfortunate incident could bring him good news. He continued to listen, waiting for a vital piece of information to know if he was accurate in his assumptions.

"He's not going to be pulling any load for awhile," one of the men near the team was saying. "You think he could help?"

"I don't know," the response was spoken with a sigh, "might be able to, but…"

"But could cause more harm than good. Yet…" The pause was lengthy, and the best Bruce could recollect was that there was deep thinking going on and the longer it continued, the more favorable it meant for him.

"All right, go ahead and get him out of there."

Bruce smiled. That had been Marshal Mays' command. There were two reasons that his mouth drew up into a smile, stepping free from the enclosed inferno under any circumstances would bring relief, but there was something far greater than having a different form of hot air touch his skin, a possible escape. He could do nothing pinned up, but out in the open, no matter if a gun was pointed at him from multiple hands, there was always an opportunity for something positive to sway in an outlaw's direction. Bruce pressed his nose to the bars so that the badge that was coming for him could see his grin and it drew even wider when the key was pressed into the lock, the door popping open even the inch of space that it did brought a wave of excitement through Bruce's veins.

"All right, Stahl, step back," the secondary lawman waved his gun at the window, "you're coming out for a spell."

"Thought you were going to let me die in there," Bruce wiped his sleeve over his mouth, but never took his eyes off of the lawman, which he did finally take note was wearing a sheriff's badge, made more noticeable now that his vest had been removed as it had become too hot for any extra layer to be worn. He chuckled as he stepped to the ground, thinking that a deputy would have been too inexperienced to deal with a notorious outlaw such as he was, but then again, it was yet to be seen if these two badge wearing chauffeurs had the clout themselves.

"Come on," the sheriff motioned with his gun toward the front of the wagon. "You can help with the horses. One of them has gone lame."

"After you give me a drink," Bruce nodded his head at the water barrel. "I feel like I've been dry since sunup."

"Get him over here, Talmon," Marshal Mays instructed, the authority in his voice not difficult to miss by any set of ears.

"You heard the Marshal," Talmon said with an additional movement of his gun, "move forward. You'll get that drink when we're finished with you."

"Or I'm finished with you," Bruce said under his breath and whether Talmon heard him or not went unknown as not a flicker of a response was seen anywhere on the sheriff's face.

Bruce stopped near the injured horse, a hand automatically reaching out in an introductory rub along the animal's nose, but with his wrists bound with less than a foot of space spanning between them, it was hard to not let the chain touch the animal's moist mouth. At least he could tell that the badge wearing team had been keeping the horses hydrated, unlike their now handy prisoner. And that's what Bruce remained, still a prisoner, but now useful. Bruce had spent his teenage years working for a blacksmith that had taken him under his wing and although Bruce had never responded with much favor to the firing, pounding and shaping of metals, he'd learned about the horses that were stabled there. The lawmen, of course, knew this, as everything in his past had been turned inside out during his trial. Having that knowledge didn't make him feel less condemned, but at least it made him feel slightly appreciative of a small portion of his past that wasn't so sullied.

Bruce kneeled, talking gently to not only the injured horse, but its companion as well to keep them both steady, but with each subsequent movement that Bruce made, the horses began to balk. He glared up at both lawmen, receiving a necessary response of putting their hands on the animals to keep them still, and then brought his gaze back to the leg that was being favored. Bruce ran his hands down the leg and then back up again, but the upward movement made the horse flinch violently, recoiling in fear and the animal's partner did the same, but it wasn't just a natural response to pain. It was his chains. The horses didn't like his shackles, but quite frankly, neither did he.

Bruce slowly stood, knowing the diagnosis but not saying it aloud. He didn't like to be the cause of additional panic to the animals, but at that moment, it was all that he had that was to his advantage. Bruce had never thought that his shackles could be used for his own gain, but there they were, a mighty weapon in more than one way. He took a step back, causing two guns to be pointed at the level of his head, but with a few shakes back and forth that made the sweat droplets cascade off of Bruce's cheeks at a faster level, he directed a finger at the injured animal.

"If you want me to help him," Bruce found it difficult to not let a sly smile creep across his face, but he held it pinched in a frowned position. "Then you're going to have to free my hands," the smile was stopped once more by the biting of the inside of his lip before going onward, "and the horse."

"We can't do that," Marshal Mays responded rapidly.

"Then you don't have a man to help this horse at all," Bruce spat the response back just as quickly.

"We'll unhitch the team," Marshal Mays said slowly, watching the expression on Stahl's face carefully, "but you stay bound."

"We'll see," Bruce could contain his smile no longer, and as it curled up the corners of his reddened cheeks, both lawmen felt a quiver go down their spines.

When the horses were separated, without anything far enough from the wagon where Stahl was situated, Marshal Mays was left to hold the partner of the injured horse as well as his own mount securely. His right hand still pointed a gun, but the opposite was wrapped tightly around a set of reins, and despite the marshal's pleading commands, neither animal wanted to stand quiet. It would have been nearly impossible for even the most skilled horsemen to keep the duo steady when a desperate man wearing noisy irons purposely was shuffling his feet in the ever present dust close by.

Talmon was responsible for holding the injured horse, but as he took the horse's line in his steady hands, the sheriff made a mistake. He dropped his gun inside his holster to use both hands in aid of the horse. An experienced outlaw like Bruce Stahl was didn't miss details such as this. Bruce maneuvered his body so that he was within a leaping reach of the lawman's right hip and then after a few moments of letting the intimidating noises clank onward, he let his chains go silent. He soothingly talked to the horse, patting a haunch, getting closer, ever closer to his goal. When Bruce knew he couldn't miss, he twisted his feet, the chains crunching together made the horse that stood between Sheriff Talmon and himself leap backward, giving him the ability to jump, roll and grab a pistol with both hands in a mere two seconds, the thrill of victory that it gave brought refreshing strength into his veins as if he'd downed a bucket of water and a bar top full of whisky shots.

"Drop that gun, Marshal," Stahl shouted, the echo bouncing back from somewhere beyond their barren location, "or I'll kill him on the spot!"

It was dropped, but his side of the bargain had never been planned on being fulfilled. As soon as the marshal's weapon was tossed aside, Bruce pulled the trigger, striking Talmon alongside of the head and the sheriff went down, and although his body hit the ground, his hand never released the lines of the injured horse. Bruce paid little attention to that fact, only rapidly turning to aim his gun recklessly at Marshal Mays and pulled the trigger, where the bullet missed the main mark and tore through the side of his neck, the impact flinging his body flat onto his back into the dirt, making the gun that he'd purposefully dropped become only inches from a hand that suddenly gave the two horses their complete release.

Shaking his chains was all that the already spooked horses needed. With a violent rearing, the saddled mount that belonged to the marshal returned all fours back to the earth and began to run, the horse next to him needing zero encouragement to do the same. Stahl laughed, knowing that he didn't need them, for the injured horse wasn't as seriously endangered as the lawmen had presumed and it was that animal that the outlaw knew could take his lightweight frame to freedom. But one more step was all that he'd make in any direction, for he heard a hammer get pulled back and his eyes found Marshal Mays, leaning up on one elbow with his gun, slightly wavering, but nevertheless, aimed directly at him.

"Toss it far," Marshal Mays sputtered, but the command was audible, the exclamation rather pronounced. "Do it!"

Bruce let the weapon fly with a forceful thrust, where it struck the earth in a way that a gunsmith would need to work on its components before it would ever fire again. He stood still, hating the marshal, but also loathing himself, as his whole body radiated the revulsion that pumped through his veins for them all. Bruce heard the movement behind him as Sheriff Talmon regained his feet, realizing that not a single one of his bullets had sent the lawmen to the Pearly Gates. If the two horses hadn't been gone, he'd thought the entire scheme had produced nothing, but at least, there was still one thing in his favor and the sheriff was about to proclaim the stark reality.

"We only have one horse left," Talmon breathed heavily as his hand clutched the line of the injured animal that wished it could have ran freely with the other two that were so far out of sight that the dust cloud that their hooves made was all that could be seen. His other hand was pressed tightly to a head that made him feel like a dizzy kid on a merry-go-round, but at least he could stand, the marshal had yet to even attempt it. "What're we going to do?"

"One of us will stay here," Marshal Mays nodded, knowing even as he said the words aloud that he already knew the arrangement that would be made, "and the other will go for help."

"Where's help?" Talmon asked, cringing as the blood from his forehead dripped past his eye.

"Sodium Wells is closest, then after that, Laramie, but there should be some homesteads, farms, or something before you reach town." Marshal Mays coughed throughout his reply, as the words were getting harder to form. He wasn't sure how long he could hang on, and although the distance wasn't an exaggeratedly far journey, a wounded man on an injured horse would take two days, likely even longer, to make such a trip, not to mention the time it would take for any help to arrive in return. And then there was the thought in Marshal Mays' mind that Talmon might not make it all the way to civilization at all. There was a rifle stowed under the driver's seat that Talmon could take for his defense, but the shells inside of it couldn't do a thing to the earth's elements. They were in trouble, deep trouble, but neither lawman was the type that would take the law into their own hands, no matter what the situation had become. A murderer by the name of Bruce Stahl had just proven why he was such a lowlife, but he wasn't about to turn a marshal and a sheriff into the same.

With Sheriff Talmon's help, Marshal Mays was propped up by the rear wheel in the shade of the tumbleweed wagon, as Stahl was seated near the front wheel. It wouldn't have been wise, at least by the lawmen's thinking, to keep Stahl locked in the wagon, for each man needed to be supplied with food and water, and it went unknown if the marshal would be able to get to his feet. As long as Marshal Mays stayed conscious and secured with his weapon to threaten to shoot the outlaw's toes off if necessary, there was less worries that either man would die from the hot elements while the sheriff was gone, however long that may be. As it would turn out, it would never be known by either remaining man if Talmon ever did return.

The third hour had just passed since the attempted escape, and although the sun was still moving in a more westerly position, it hadn't lost any of its heat, and somehow, it felt even hotter. If it was because the need for water had intensified once more or if the temperature was still rising, neither man in their desperate conditions knew, but with a garbled set of instructions thrown at him, Bruce rose, downing a dipper full of water before refilling its contents to hand it to the increasingly weak marshal. An outstretched hand waited to clasp the handle of the dipper, but Bruce sharply brought the hand back, spilling the water into the man's face. When the eyes went closed, Bruce sprang, his hands grabbing the gun before the marshal had a chance to squeeze the trigger. Marshal Mays stared up at his enemy, but he never flinched at the barrel that was aimed at his skull. The gun clicked, signaling an empty revolver, but it had to be tested all six times before it was believed and then Bruce Stahl was suddenly on his knees.

"Where are the bullets?" His scream could have rivaled a lunatic's.

"Not… telling."

Bruce began to shuffle through the man's pockets and the first one he searched revealed the key to his shackles, which if he hadn't been blinded by his rage would have been used immediately, but he slipped it into his own shirt pocket instead. After turning Marshal Mays' clothing inside out and not a single bullet being found, Bruce's anger exploded. He should have known the lawman would pull a trick on him just in case he did get the upper hand, but he wasn't going to let the marshal have the last laugh. That was all for him. Bruce balled his fists together and with a mighty thrust he pounded his fury into Marshal Mays, one blow after the other until the marshal barely clung to life.

With arms raised, ready to strike again, this time with precise finality, Bruce suddenly drew still and kept his breath locked inside of his chest. He turned his face, dripping with sweat that stung in his eyes, but even as he blinked in repeated fashion, he could see the silhouette approaching. A lone rider, and by his frame, from the outline of his hat to the way he sat easily on a horse, it was easily deduced that it wasn't the lawman's comrade in return, but a cowboy, or someone with far more sinister intentions such as a bounty hunter, or someone with a price on his head such as Bruce had, was coming his way. And how could he not bee line in his very direction? The sore thumb tumbleweed wagon was as obvious as the sun beating down on top of them and unless the man on horseback thought he was suffering from the heat and was only seeing a mirage, he'd keep his mount in a straight line right for him.

The death of Marshal Mays and his full escape would have to wait. Although, by the way the marshal was losing blood, perhaps it would soon happen, preferably before the rider entered the scene. Bruce let a filthy word escape his lips as he scrambled around the side of the wagon to get a better view of the approaching intruder. He was still too far to make out specific details, but there was no question anymore that the rider's sole destination was Bruce's very own. He quickly glanced at Marshal Mays who was now even more slumped than before, and as he figured the lawman was about to breathe his last, he wanted the rider to assume the same fate had touched him as well.

Bruce dropped to his belly, crawling into position as he kept his frame in line with the tumbleweed wagon lest his pretense be found out sooner than intended. Bruce waited until he heard the rider cautiously approach, turning wide around the tumbleweed wagon and, lying still as a dead man, he separated his lashes. Although the heat was making the image waver in front of him, he could make out the bay horse with a small white star above its eyes and the man that rode him, black hat and faded blue shirt, seated firmly in the saddle with one hand on the reins and another resting on his right thigh. From that hand his eyes followed a few inches over to where the gun that stuck out of its holster glinted in the ever oppressive sunlight. To aid his last will for survival, that gun needed to be his. And whoever the unsuspecting stranger was, he was about to find out just how far Bruce would go to get his hands on it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

When a man had been out on the trail for nearly two weeks with not more to eat than a dwindling stash of biscuits that were imitating rocks, once the last leg of the journey to home was in sight, it was only natural to quicken his steps, or at least, get the horse that he was riding to do so. It was also the characteristic of this man to take risks in his life, so with the desire to get home stronger than any need of surrounding comforts, Jess Harper made what others would call a reckless decision. He made the choice to take the shortcut back to Laramie through the dry lands instead of going the long way around the barren country. He knew how to take care of himself and his faithful companion, Traveler, in the desert's roughest conditions, but, like trails often do, this one was about to take an unexpected turn. Right about now.

Jess pulled Traveler to a stop with a softly commanded, "whoa," fully taking in the scene that was in front of him. As far as his vision could focus, there wasn't much of anything to look at except the rocks upon rocks layering upon hill after hill. Right through the middle of that vast terrain was a wide swath of barrenness where nothing but dirt and dead shrubbery rolled around in the wind as likely nothing else but such things would want to settle there. But it was in this place where Jess' eyes drew to a squint for something that didn't belong interrupted the normal desolation of the land. A tumbleweed wagon sat alone in the middle of the road without so much as a sign of anyone being around it. There wasn't even a team of horses attached to the transporting jail's front. Trouble wasn't a fitting word, but it was what first came to Jess' mind as he urged Traveler to a trot toward the wagon. It wasn't long when the description turned into something much closer to danger.

Jess stopped his horse at the front of the wagon, only draping the reins loosely over the wagon tongue after he dismounted. He took a step and then halted, his hand pulling his gun in an instant before his foot found a forward motion again. A man bound in chains around both of his hands and feet lay face down on the ground that by all appearances was a dead man, but even without a definite sign of life, Jess kept his gun poised and ready. Jess continued to walk in his direction, but a moan near the rear of the wagon turned him abruptly. Trying to hoist himself from the ground beside a wheel was a man wearing a marshal's badge, and from the blood coming from the side of his neck, he was in far greater need of Jess' help.

"What happened?" Jess asked, immediately putting pressure on the open wound with a handkerchief he'd pulled from his hip pocket. Jess lifted the man so that his head leaned against his left shoulder, trying to aid in his comfort the best that he could but even with the pressure now placed on the pulsating wound, Jess knew there was nothing else he could do.

"Talmon," the marshal sputtered, nearly choking on the blood that didn't just flow on the outside of his neck, but what was also going down his throat. By the dazed look in his eye and the unfamiliar name he'd breathed, Jess could only guess that the wounded man wasn't clearly seeing his face, and that in his grave condition was only reaching out to an unknown person that he thought had come to his aid. "He's… not…"

Whatever the message was, it would not be relayed any further, as a weak moan was all that followed his sketchy words and then he was gone. Jess eased the dead man's body onto the ground and then looked up, his eyes roving once more over the empty land. There were many questions on his tongue that would never have an answer, for the only living things that had seen what had transpired were close to being dead things themselves.

Jess tugged his hat lower to his eyes to ward off the harsh glare from the sunlight and glanced at his waiting mount. What had happened to the team of horses that had pulled the stout wagon? It wouldn't take an experienced man such as himself to be able to see that nothing on the wagon had broken and certainly the animals hadn't unhitched themselves. Jess shook his head slowly back and forth as his eyes narrowed into a squint, looking toward the heat wavering horizon, but there was nothing but fierce nothingness that came into focus. He dropped his vision back to the dead man, his hand touching the star that pronounced his title as a U.S. Marshal. No tumbleweed wagon ever used only one lawman to transport a convict, yet here he was alone. He'd likely died by the hands of the criminal, but by the looks of the other body in the dirt and the empty gun beside him, the lawman hadn't passed away without doing one last necessary duty, which left Jess the sole task of doing the burying.

Jess pulled a shovel loose from where it was secured from the side of the wagon and stuck its tip into the hard earth knowing what was before him wouldn't be completed anytime soon. Jess put his boot on the edge of the shovel, the wind shifting more dust underneath it than what the pressure of his weight had done. He wiped his brow and then stuck the shovel into the ground with more force and as his body turned to toss the heap of soil aside, the edge of his vision caught movement, but not soon enough to be able to properly react. When his body was hit from behind, the shovel fell from his hand, landing in the dirt with another swirl of brown dust into his eyes. It was too late to chastise himself for not making sure the convict really was deceased, for now his entire focus was on staying alive.

It was the sound of the chain crunching near his ear that brought Jess' heart rate up, but in the next second when the same piece of chain was wrapped around his neck, it was then that he feared his heart would stop. Jess braced his body as the iron links pressed tight, one hand clutching at the chain to prevent it from choking him to death while the other reached for the arm that did the strangling while the smell of the unwashed man stung his nose and lungs almost as badly as the chain. The man hissed into his ear after a sharp intake of breath, like a snake bearing its fangs, although what was tearing into his flesh was not a venomous creature, yet was just as severe. Jess' hand traced up along the man's arm until he felt the flesh above his elbow and gripped tight, and with his legs supporting both bodyweights, he hurtled the man off of his back and over his head, releasing the chain from its strangulating hold around his neck.

When the convict landed in the dust, Jess drew his weapon with his normal gun hand, as the other latched onto the searing pain that throbbed around his neck. He could swallow and he could breathe, but his normal bark that would have commanded loudly at any other man that had threatened his life was far from menacing when he emitted a raw, almost shaking demand, "stay on the ground."

One look into an unwavering gun barrel was all that was needed for the man to show his obedience and keep himself planted in the dirt. Jess let an inaudible sigh escape through his slightly parted lips in relief that he wasn't being challenged further. It was evident by the clothes that he wore that he hadn't yet been imprisoned, but was likely on the way there. He was thin, gaunt was possibly a better term, as his clothes that resembled a down-on-his-luck drifter hung loosely over his limbs. He had dark hair with matching colored stubble on his cheeks, angry brown eyes and a deep scowl around his mouth, but what held Jess' attention the most, was the irons that locked tightly around each wrist and each ankle, the upper portion being what had almost killed him.

Jess felt his cheeks warm as the convict made a sharp noise through his throat, adverting Jess' gaze in a quick motion to land on the dead lawman, the mysterious story now perhaps having some much needed insight, Jess motioned with his head to the corpse, "you kill him?"

"Yeah," it was answered with arrogance, making Jess cringe.

"What about the other man?" Jess asked, searching the facial expressions closely to detect a hint of a lie or downright truth that would come in an answer.

"What other man?" The half smiled response was all that Jess needed, because he knew without seeing any evidence that there had been more than one man involved and even if the outlaw decided to continue to try to weave a lie or attempt to deceive, Jess wasn't going to buy it.

"All right," Jess gave a single nod, "you killed him, so you bury him."

"I don't like that arrangement," the voice was shrill, like it belonged to a weasel.

"You ain't got no other choice," Jess motioned with his gun for the man to stand and ground out the words with a firmer sounding voice. "Now get to it."

"That gun makes you a big man," the convict stood, shaking his irons as if to intimidate Jess with them, but it didn't make the blue eyes flinch.

"Just remember I'm the one who holds it," Jess answered and then after he heard a feigned attempt to hide a laugh, Jess asked, "what's your name, anyhow?"

"Bruce Stahl," he said with pride, as if everyone in the world knew of him and would tremble at the mention of his name, everyone except for the man that was holding a gun on him.

"Jess Harper," Jess' introduction was spoken in a natural tone, for there was no need on his part to strike any fear into the outlaw, his weapon alone should have been enough to do that, not his past reputation as a gunfighter, reformed outlaw, or whatever else men in his former lifestyle would refer him as.

"All right, Mr. Harper," Stahl reached for the shovel that Jess shoved in his direction, "I'll bury him, but I'll do so only with the knowledge that it'll give me some experience, because you just might eventually need one dug for you, too."

"Stop talking and start digging."

For nearly an hour, Jess stood still with his gun poised in Stahl's direction as the man slowly dug the grave. As Jess had already been well aware, the ground didn't want to give in to the demands of a man wielding a shovel, but once broken, the dirt parted aside, mounding up in the middle until the depth was at an appropriate level for what was needed. There was no mercy on Stahl's part for the man that he'd killed and was ready to bury as he started to forcefully tug on his feet, but Jess' own kindness had the ability to extend to the both of them. Jess tucked his gun in his belt at his waistline, reaching out to the marshal's immobile hands and with a firm command to Stahl to do the deed with more respect, Jess gently lifted the man in the grave and once completed, nodded to Stahl to finish the duty while refilling his hand with his weapon.

How Jess ever retained compassion for even the vilest of criminals, Jess himself could never comprehend, but it was a part of his character that had often been the most scrutinized amongst his peers in his days on the wild side, and it had only intensified during his more mature adulthood. Jess knew it had been backbreaking work to bury the marshal, especially in the already depleted state that Stahl was in, therefore because of the empathy that lived inside of him, Jess couldn't let the outlaw finish the entire job alone. After the last shovel of dirt was in place, Jess motioned to the closest pile of rocks, which was still a grueling distance away, and then he fell in step beside the convict, back and forth, again and again, until the grave was properly marked with the misshapen stones. There wasn't a single scrap of wood to be seen to be formed in the shape of a cross, so Jess tucked the marshal's badge between two stones at the head of the grave, so that anyone that would come searching for the fallen lawman would know it wasn't just any man that was buried there. Jess stepped to the front of the grave, and even though he never had the chance to know the man, Jess whisked his hat from his head, but there wouldn't be more than a mere moment of silence given.

"Are you planning on letting me go bone dry while you say an unnecessary prayer?" Bruce's question brought Jess' head up from its bowed state, sparks flying from his eyes as he clearly focused on the visibly exhausted, yet still incensed man. It was true that he deserved a long drink after that seemingly endless task and Jess knew his own body craved the life giving liquid as well, but he wasn't going to produce the water only because of Stahl's unsympathetic say so.

"You can have some water, but I'll get it when I dad-gum please." Jess waited until the silence drew for longer than a minute, although neither man counted the seconds to know for certain how long the span actually was. Once replacing the sweat stained hat back on his head, Jess glanced at the water barrel, grateful that the contents were nearly full, as his own canteen wouldn't have gone very far between the two of them, especially when he didn't know how long it was going to have to last.

Jess knew not to turn his back on a man as desperate and despicable as Bruce Stahl was, for even the slightest mistake could cost him his life. He had already made one vital error assuming the man was dead upon his arrival and there wouldn't be another. Jess took the steps to the water barrel backward, keeping his eye trained to the panting body in front of him, just in case there was more on the man's mind than the need to quench his thirst. Jess lifted the dipper to his lips first, letting his throat take the refreshing, albeit warm, liquid slowly to savor every droplet. He would have rather taken another serving of water and douse it over his head, as his skin craved it just as much as his mouth, but he took it to the outlaw instead, watching as he drained it in two quick gulps. Each man drank another cupful before the dipper splashed back inside of the barrel and at least for a few moments as they stayed in the shade of the tumbleweed wagon, neither one felt dry.

Now what? It wasn't spoken aloud, but the question mark hung in the air between the two men so profoundly that it was almost visualized as if it were drawn in the dirt. They could wait, but for what or for whom and the most important question of all was the unknown length of time that any wait could turn into. Days could turn into a week or even longer for there was no way to know if anyone would be traveling on such a roadway in the middle of nowhere any time soon and if there was, Jess wasn't certain he would want to meet them. There were worse men than Bruce Stahl was that crawled around in the unknown parts of the territory and he didn't want to be sitting out in the open such as he was for one to find him. Waiting, even if the marshal's companion would be returning with help, seemed too high of a risk, yet, with a criminal as desperate as the one Jess was with, any possible avenue he could take would be brandishing the highest of risks. But Jess had to make a choice, for the question mark wouldn't disappear without doing something about it, and he would.

They were two men in the depths of a desert; a murderer and a cowboy with one wearing shackles and the other holding a gun, but there was only one horse to get them out of it. Both men couldn't sit on top of the animal together, not under the current conditions, from the heat, or from the chained convict. If they were going to go anywhere, and Jess was leaning hard on their leaving, it would be at a walking pace, and there was only one man in any condition to walk such a journey. Jess. With a determined glint in his eye, Jess walked to Traveler and let his mount get his fill of the water. He'd need it more than the men, for Jess had just decided they were walking out.

The sun was finally releasing its torrid touch on the land, but even when it would set, the temperature wouldn't drop low enough to stop producing the sweat beads from forming on a brow, at the underarm, or from trickling down a man's back. Jess didn't bother to wipe the droplets away from his cheek, for more would be following, but even still, he knew it was the best time for them to be on the move. After filling every canteen that Jess had with him, along with one that was left in the driver's seat of the tumbleweed wagon, he gave the command for Bruce Stahl to mount his horse.

"If you try anything," Jess growled the threat through his teeth, "you'll get a bullet, but not one that'll put an end to you real quick, but one that'll blow out your knee or an elbow."

"Do you have that precise of an aim?" Stahl asked as he put his hands on the saddle horn to hoist himself up. "If you'd miss and hit air, well, that'd make whatever I'd try a lot more interesting, now wouldn't it?"

"I reckon you're only one move away from finding out how good my aim is," Jess answered with his deep toned voice full of grit. "And I know where to put a deadly mark, too, just in case I change my mind."

"All right, all right," Bruce conceded as he climbed on top of the saddle, "I'll be good."

Jess knew it wasn't a promise that would be kept, but he hoped that they'd get out of the dry country before it was put to the test. As long as they were out in the harshest open land possible with nothing but constant heat to face around every turn, neither man was really in control, no matter who held the gun. The sun was, and Jess knew he wasn't the only one who understood that fact, which made the journey they were about to embark upon even more dangerous. They were literally in the middle of nowhere and it would take at least two days of travel in their condition before that would even remotely change into a less barren somewhere, but they would have to get going to get there and Jess wouldn't wait another moment to get started.

Traveler balked only slightly at the strange way the outlaw was positioned on his back, for the chains prevented a normal seated position in the saddle, but as long as Jess retained a hold on the reins, the animal kept his trust in his master and started forward without complaint. Jess chose his hopeful destination as Spartanville, although he didn't relay that information to his outlaw companion. Without a town or any people, Sodium Wells was closer and a more likely choice to make, but Jess didn't want to take the risk that the spring was already dry, for he knew their supply of water could run out before getting to the areas only water source that he knew of. Rawlins was even farther to the northeast and Green River well beyond that remote location and even though the land farther north along that route line was less intense, Jess didn't want to make the already extended journey any longer by heading in a completely different direction for help.

They'd walked a mile, maybe closer to two when a sound pricked a horse's ears that quickly produced the reaction to sniff the air. Jess turned his head in every direction, searching for the source when a rough bark turned into a yowl, followed by a repeated high-pitched yip that was coming from more than one mouth. A pack of scraggly coyotes were running together across the barren land, their closest distance nearly thirty yards away. It wasn't dim enough light that Jess couldn't see them, but even if his eyes hadn't been able to pick out their dingy coats, Traveler had them spotted all the way. Releasing a comforting, "whoa, now, Son," through his lips, Jess encouraged his horse to continue onward, as the yapping dog-like creatures weren't interested in them at all, but ran toward the east where they'd likely wind up along a nearly dry waterway sometime within the night.

Jess listened to one last lonely howl in the distance, adding his own response with a gentle sound in his throat for Traveler to hear when another sound broke through the remaining stillness. Taking advantage of a distraction that only nature could produce, Bruce Stahl made his move, the irons clanking together giving Jess the only indication that the man had jumped. He turned just as rapidly, ready to fire his gun at whatever flesh he could see, but Stahl was already upon him, hitting him in the middle of his chest. The jerking of two bodies made the horse reel backward, but unlike a skittish pair earlier in the day, Traveler kept his position when the reins draped into the dirt.

As Jess had been acutely aware, chain bound wrists were a powerful weapon, and once more they were in use, but not in a deathly grip around his neck like they'd been earlier. Bruce wrapped the iron links around Jess' gun hand, squeezing tightly until Jess' fingers became numb, dropping the gun into the dirt. Jess fought, kicking with his leg, and jabbing at a jaw with his left hand, but now that his gun was gone, any intimidation on his part went with it. Bruce finally pulled the chain loose and brought his hands up high, the momentum coming down gained force as he struck Jess across the jaw, drawing instant blood to spurt from a deep gash at the corner of his mouth.

Jess produced his own punch, bringing a trickle of blood from the opposite nose, but the reaction to the pain in another man's face was only to ball a set of fists together in a dangerous aim for Jess' skull. The shackle struck his temple and Jess' knees hit the ground with a whack, the darkness already willing to consume him, only needing his permission to fully succumb, but he'd never give it. Jess blinked his eyes repeatedly, his forcefulness weakened enough that the normally active fire that fueled his inner core was not able to be lit enough to ward off the dizziness, or perhaps it was the throbbing pain, but the fight within still had enough power to rage on. Despite the lightheadedness, he returned to his feet at the same moment that Stahl picked an object up out of the dirt. Jess knew what it was without seeing it, but knowing couldn't fully prepare himself for what the man would do with it.

Jess kept his feet planted firmly to the ground, standing slightly bent at the waist, his chest heaving deeply with each breath that he drew. His eyes were narrowed, staring intently at his opponent, who returned the gaze, looking at him with malice, and there in his eyes Jess saw the cold, cruel hatred that piercingly reached outward and clutched around his throat. Jess Harper was a man that never admitted his fear, but what he saw, what he knew this man was capable of doing, and that there was no one around to stop an evil act from happening sent a chill racing down his spine, being somehow even colder than the depth of Bruce Stahl's eyes. The mouth of the outlaw, although partly open to draw in deep bursts of air into his lungs, showed every inch of his smile as he pointed the gun that used to be fitted in Jess' holster, dangerously close to a rapidly beating heart.

"I'm too close to freedom to care what happens to you," Bruce hissed the words through his teeth. "So you best do as I say, or die right now."

"I ain't about to argue with a man in your position," Jess moved his eyes to look at the gun and the finger poised on the trigger. He didn't add aloud what the remainder of his thoughts were processing, that Stahl would be killing him anyway. But until he set off the gun, Jess knew he still had a chance and he wouldn't intentionally do anything to pressure the desperate man from ending his life any sooner.

"Good." The reply was spoken too happily for Jess' liking, but any irritation from the outlaw's mirth wasn't displayed anywhere on his face. Bruce shook his wrists, the iron links clanking against each other showed the object of his threat before he uttered it allowed. With one hand still firmly attached to the gun, he gestured with a thumb to his shirt pocket. "You're going to get the key and get these shackles off me. I've been bound tight for too long."

Jess' hesitation was only a moment, yet it was long enough for Bruce to take his threat one inch closer as he thrust the barrel of the gun into Jess' chest. The pressure of the iron felt hotter than the outdoor temperature, like he was being branded, and he knew if he didn't act in obedience, Jess would be blazoned with the mark of a bullet, permanently. Jess raised his hand slowly, reaching his fingers into the man's pocket and felt for the key. As the instrument that would unlock the outlaw entered his hand Jess tucked it into his palm, thinking that once Stahl was freed, his life expectancy would drastically diminish, unless the outlaw had another use for him, and at the moment, Jess couldn't think of a single thing that could possibly keep him alive. Adjusting the object of Bruce's desire to fit between two fingers, Jess held up the key just beyond the outlaw's face and there, as snapping brown eyes stared at the small, precisely shaped piece of metal, Jess' hand froze in place.

"Set me free!" It was spoken sharply, yet strangely it was merely a whisper.

Jess stuck the key into the keyhole and as it turned, the sound was proof enough when it became unlocked. Stahl shook his wrists and the chains fell into the dirt, sending a small wisp of dust curling into the air between the two men and the moment it settled back into the earth, the key was inserted into the bound ankles and once more, the irons landed with a thud amidst a cloud of powdery sand. It was done, the man was free, and Jess felt a weight press hard on his back, for he felt that he was responsible for the man's sudden freedom and also, that he would soon die without Slim or Andy, or anyone else that he cared about knowing where he had fallen. Jess set the key in Stahl's opened hand, stepped backward twice and then waited, keeping his face set firmly to show the killer in front of him that he wasn't afraid to die.

Jess had truly expected a bullet to penetrate his body when Stahl raised his gun hand, but what he received was another blow to his head, and this time, no ounce of his courage could stop the darkness from snatching him, dragging him into its clutch deeper than the night sky could ever be.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Groaning as he awakened, Jess raised his eyelids but kept his head level with the ground as returning to consciousness brought the awareness of a throbbing headache with it, needing to blink three times before anything came into focus. The sun hadn't begun its torture yet of a new day, but it was close enough to the horizon to create enough light to see and what Jess' eyes soon landed upon was Bruce Stahl, seated against a scraggly dead shrub with Jess' gun in his hand, and Jess couldn't help but continue his stare. Stahl should have taken Traveler and been long gone, leaving him alone in the desert to die, but the man and the horse remained. The surprise that coursed through Jess' veins brought his head up, making him ignore the pain around his temples which also brought a barrel of a gun to return to a direct point at his vitals.

"I'm glad you're finally awake," Bruce said as he scrutinized the dried blood on Jess' cheek where it had trickled down from his head, gauging the depths of the injury he'd inflicted. "I hated to waste any water on your account to get you to snap out of your stupor."

"Why waste anything at all?" Jess automatically raised his hand to his head, although touching the blood crusted lump didn't make it feel any better at all. "You coulda just left me here to die."

"I could have," Bruce nodded and then switched his head to a negative shake, "but that wouldn't have been my smartest move."

Jess shook his head hard several times to help ward away any leftover dizziness and at the same time, try to help his brain think more clearly. What the outlaw was telling him wasn't making sense, although in Jess' defense, he didn't think and act like a criminal as depraved and desperate as Bruce Stahl was and more importantly, although roughed up, Jess wasn't in the same physical condition as the escaped convict was. This noticeable fact had been the driving force in Bruce Stahl's mind to keep Jess alive, and as Jess drew to his feet, the reason began to trickle out of the outlaw's mouth.

"I needed time," Stahl said as he put a hand on Traveler's reins and Jess couldn't help but notice that he did so with a gentle hand, and for that, he gave a small nod of gratitude. "I've been worn out for longer than I can remember and without you barking at me, the cooler night air was like medicine, although far from the fully healing kind. That'll come when I'm free and clear."

"You'll never be free as long as you're running," Jess interjected sharply.

"Maybe," Stahl shrugged, "but I'll worry about that when the time comes. Now though, it's time to travel."

"Where to?" Jess didn't add the question that he wanted to, but it played in his mind. _With or without me?_

"Anywhere," Stahl answered quickly as he stepped closer to Jess, "as long as it's out of this godforsaken country."

"God hasn't forsaken it," Jess said slowly and quietly, but the words wouldn't penetrate on their receiving end. "I reckon He ain't gonna abandon something He created."

"Take your boots off," Bruce commanded and then when Jess didn't act on his demand, he bounced a bullet dangerously close to Jess' toes. "I won't be saying it again."

Jess complied, but pulling them free from heat swelled feet made it necessary to use both hands in a firm yank to remove them from his body. He was ready to drop them both in the dust when Bruce snatched them from his hands and, kicking out of the flimsy moccasin like shoes that had been on the outlaw's own feet, he put on Jess' boots, giving them a stamp with each foot to properly put them into place.

"Not too bad for size," Stahl thrust one foot in Jess' direction as if he were expecting a compliment on the look. "A little big, but much better than those things Marshal Mays put me in so I could properly wear those ankle irons they had me wear. Oh, and that reminds me, about those irons …" the hesitation was purposely given, but the allotted time didn't give Jess an indication to what was coming next. "Put them on."

"What?"

"You heard me," Bruce turned his head to the side in a cocky manner, "and unless you want to keep testing _my_ aim, you'd better do it now. Wrists first."

They weren't far from where Jess stood, but the two steps that he took to get them felt more like taking two hundred. He paused, standing over the pile of chains and the shackles that were attached to them and looked over his shoulder at Stahl, standing behind him with his sick, sinister smile as he kept the gun pointed too close to his head. There wasn't any other choice to make but to do what the man said. He didn't want to die, not then, not there, and not by a convict's hand. Maybe years ago he wouldn't have cared when or how he'd die, but now he had someone else to live for other than himself. Slim and Andy. With the thought of staying alive residing in his head as well as in his heart, Jess picked up the shackles and fitted them around his wrists, the snapping of them locking together sounded like lightning striking the earth to Jess' ears.

"Now sit," Bruce motioned with the gun until Jess did so and keeping a somewhat accurate aim with the weapon, the outlaw picked up the remaining irons and with intentional roughness, slammed them onto Jess' ankles, the fit being so tight around Jess' solidly shaped form that they instantly dug into his flesh. "And finally, one more thing."

Jess stood, as Bruce continued to revel in the way he dawdled before performing his next act, keeping his eye trained to the outlaw's every movement. He didn't know how vital his keen watchfulness would be until he realized what the convict was about to do. Stahl reached into his pocket and held up the key to the shackles, the first full ray of sunlight striking the golden object making it glint in the early morning brightness and then with a mighty thrust, let the key fly through the air. If it wasn't for the sun illuminating a glow onto the key, Jess would have never seen where it had landed, but he did and he burned the place into his memory like the sun was now burning into his skin.

The tumbleweed wagon was still in sight, as it would have been in any direction for miles, but it was this mark on the land that Jess turned his gaze upon, for it was with the abnormal object sticking up off of the desert floor that helped him gauge what was now most important to him, the location of the key. The distance, the angles, and the way the shadows were being cast all played a role in keeping the key's position locked in his mind and the most important line to the shining object in the dust was from it to the tumbleweed wagon. He wasn't the only one staring at the prison on wheels, but the reason for the other man's intent look was completely different than Jess'. The outlaw turned away from it first, mostly so that the sun was no longer shining in his face, but its presence wouldn't be erased from his mind as easily and neither would Harper, for he had no other choice but to keep Jess alive.

The heat and its hazardous partner, the hot, dry wind would work together to wipe away any trace of their presence from the land in the form of footprints or horse tracks, but it wouldn't hide a body, and Stahl knew that they were still too close from the destination of his escape to leave one for a searcher to find. No doubt about it they would be coming. If not Sheriff Talmon and his recruited rescuers, but the tumbleweed wagon would eventually become suspected of foul play when it didn't show up in its intended destination on time. Bruce gave the horse a drink and then swallowed a mouthful himself, ready to make his getaway closer to completion.

"Does your head still hurt?" Stahl asked as he watched Jess' eyes and began to grin when Jess, although not giving a vocal reply, told him it did by the shadows that covered the sparks of blue that had been visible before Bruce had clubbed Jess over the head. "Good, because I think the best position for a man with a headache is draped over the saddle like a corpse."

The only thing Jess could think was that at least he wasn't going to be forced to walk in the shackles. He was pushed against his horse by a force that held little strength, and for a brief moment, Jess almost turned to face Stahl head on, but the gun was too close to his back to make the play. If it wasn't for the weapon, Jess would have taken him, and as his body was hoisted over the saddle, he wished he had tried it anyway. Stahl swung up over the saddle behind Jess' frame and with a gentle kick in Traveler's sides, they were moving.

From Jess' position it was difficult to shift himself even an inch in either way, and it was even more challenging to raise his head to keep an eye on their direction. They were no longer heading toward Spartanville, of that Jess was certain and if his instincts were working at their normal level despite the injury close to his thought producing head, he guessed that they were on a dead aim to Sodium Wells. It was a likely destination, still far enough from towns and people, but it was close enough to the edge of the dry lands for freedom for a man on the run.

His head being down didn't aid in the headache, but worsened the pounding and with the swaying movement his horse was making, the dizziness returned in full force. Jess touched his forehead, wiping the sweat away first so he could put a flat palm against the tight pain, but his hand felt as hot as the baking earth and brought him no relief. Only closed eyes that would lead to sleep or something deeper could bring him aid, and his physical body wanted it, cried for it, but the internal soul of Jess Harper fought it with everything that he had in him. But it wasn't enough. A little over an hour into their ride his head dropped as low as it could go as consciousness slipped away from Jess' once firm grasp.

Time was gone when there was nothing but darkness. He could have been out fifteen minutes, an hour, ten subsequent ones, or even a full day, but for certain Jess would have stayed in his own personal darkness longer if something hadn't aroused him. Jess flinched as he came to, fully aware that nothing was the same as when he'd met with oblivion. Traveler was frightened and recoiling, not responding to the man that held the reins. Jess tried to look, but there was nothing in his line of sight that would spook his trustworthy mount and not a sound of a rattler met his ears. Jess moved his hands, but the sound of the chains only made the fright worse and suddenly Traveler's front feet left the ground and the man seated in the saddle landed in the dirt. The man draped over the saddle remained, and the skittish horse began to move in an antsy pattern, threatening with every circled step to drop his master headfirst onto the solid ground.

"Whoa, boy, whoa," Jess said soothingly, hoping that the tone of his voice would reach through the fright of his mount. "Steady now, Son."

Offering words of comfort would have worked in any other setting, but when the man doing the talking was slung over the saddle like a sack of provisions and the man on foot began a harried attempt to catch the nervous animal, it was a losing battle. Traveler turned a sharp circle, kicking up the desert grown object that had spooked him in the first place, a thick, rolling tumbleweed, which seemed eerily ill fitting considering the type of wagon that had started all of this, and suddenly the front hooves were in the air again. There was nothing to hold Jess' body in place and as Traveler started running, Jess started falling.

Jess dropped into the dirt with a thud from his body and a clank from the shackles, not missing as he crunched to the ground Traveler taking a hasty exit to the south. He drew to his feet in a surprisingly swift manner for a man that was bound by chains, his body instantly reacting to the sight across from him as he readied his stance for a fight. There would be no gunplay, at least not yet, for the gun that had been secured in Bruce Stahl's possession was now lying in the dirt at least ten feet behind Jess, and the outlaw would have to go through him to get it. And he would have to try for it. If Jess wanted to live, there was no possible way he could let Stahl succeed.

With a wild leap, Stahl landed on top of Jess, his hands pummeling him on each side of his face as both men dropped to the ground. Jess was wearing a weapon, the same as Stahl had nearly effectively used on him, but Jess wasn't a heartless killer, so he didn't make an instant attempt to put an end to the outlaw's life, but he used what he had to defend his own life from being lost, the same as what he'd used time and again, his tenacious grit. Their bodies locked, rolling several times in the dirt, seemingly kicking up more dust around them than what was still on the ground. Stifling the cough in his throat that his opponent wasn't able to conquer, Jess waited until Stahl's body was flattened to the ground and as he was releasing the choking feel from his mouth, Jess was able to break away, rising to his feet. As the outlaw finished the repeated cough, Jess hauled him up by the thin fabric around his collar, making his lip split open in the next second as he delivered a solid punch to the man's mouth, dropping Stahl's body back to the ground.

Bruce Stahl rolled over onto his belly with a groan, but the sound only stayed on his lips for a moment, as the scowl turned into a smile as he clearly saw the gun lying in the dirt only an arm's length away from him. Jess saw this too, and as he gauged the distance that both men would have to reach to snatch the victory giving weapon, knowing that he was held back by two sets of chains, Jess could plainly see that his hand would never make it. His foot was his closest option. Jess jumped, although the shackles made the action difficult with precise accuracy, he landed his toes on an outstretched set of fingers, drawing a harsh yell as his other foot swung around, the chain snagging onto the gun as he sent it scooting nearly fifteen feet across the desert floor.

Jess watched as Bruce slowly came to his feet, readying his stance for another blow by blow tirade from the outlaw, but unlike the fierceness that Stahl first came at him with, he only took two shaky steps. Jess was weak, but until that moment, he hadn't realized how much weaker Stahl really was. For Jess, his hardship had only just begun, but for the outlaw, his nightmarish journey had been going on for some time, and even the power that came with being in control couldn't swing enough momentum his way. With the toll already taken, all that was needed was another stout push to put him over the edge. Jess had been the one to produce that shove. Jess hit Stahl with his fists, but the iron bound wrists were what did the damage as the force sent him flailing, where his head twisted up and around to the side, the neck broken on impact where he landed, his life exiting at the same instant.

Jess staggered backward, and as his physical endurance was drained with the fight's end, he let his knees meet the ground before he collapsed. He sat there drawing in what should have been deep breaths, but due to the heat and the exertion, they came in shallow puffs, not aiding his air starved lungs quick enough to replenish his need. Jess stayed low to the ground for several minutes, wiping away the sweat that stung his open wounds as he shielded his face from the heat of the sunlight that hurt his bloody cuts even more. When his chest felt less starved for air and his handkerchief was just as soaked as the back of his shirt with his bodily moisture and blood, Jess swayed only slightly as he did so, but got back onto his feet. He looked around in every direction at the ongoing barrenness of the terrain and then settled his eyes on the one thing that didn't match what the land produced.

Bruce Stahl was dead and although there wasn't any remorse in his heart for the departed convicted killer, Jess couldn't just leave his body there to feed what could soon become a sky full of swarming buzzards. There would be another grave dug and this time the chore would solely belong to him, with nothing but his bound hands to use to do so. Jess dropped his knees back to the earth and began, grateful that he had no sense of an actual span of time, for how much actually passed was too lengthy to count. The hole wouldn't be deep, as dirt and blood crusted hands couldn't penetrate the hard packed earth very far, but with the dry soil that he'd mound over on top, it would be an efficient enough grave, almost. Jess shook his head, as it couldn't be completed without the rocks that would have to be gathered; an endless supply of them. Step by shuffled step, bending down, picking up, back and forth, rock by rock, again and again, Jess didn't stop until it was done and when he was, Jess felt like he was done.

Before he'd let the earth claim the body, Jess had removed his boots from the feet of the dead man. Although there wasn't any way that he could wear them with the shackles solidly attached, he tucked them under his arm, hoping the opportunity to put them on wouldn't be too far into the future. The gun was back where it belonged in its holster, his draw was severely hindered, but considering there wasn't much need to pull it in lightning speed he didn't practice the action more than once. Besides, his fast hand that had given him a once revered reputation wasn't his biggest concern.

Traveler was gone and everything that Jess needed went with the freely running animal as well. The canteens full of water, the food, his bed roll and jacket were all gone. He had nothing with him that could sustain his life, only that very life that still remained inside of him and without the most vital need, water, the life wouldn't be able to carry on very far. But Jess would try, even if he failed, he would try.

The decision was made, yet there were still many unknowns in the wilderness to face. Where exactly was he? He knew by the sun's angle how to point to north, south, east or west, but one thing that he could never pinpoint was how far Bruce Stahl had really brought them. As vast as the desert was in all directions, everything looked the same. The barren land of nothingness surrounded by hills that were mere shadows in the distance to the rock laden ones that flanked each side of it wasn't much different than where he'd first ran into the tumbleweed wagon. So where could he go, which way was there to turn to possibly find any help?

West. Wasn't that his motto before he'd landed at the Sherman Ranch? Going west, always west and the same west now would save him or kill him. That's where the key to the shackles was located and it was the closest type of help he could come up with. To find the key, and not just the one that fitted the shackles, but the one that would sustain his life, was to find the tumbleweed wagon, where a partially filled water barrel would still be sitting. With shoulders slumped, Jess began to walk. Slowly, one steady foot going forward at a time until Bruce Stahl's grave was no longer in sight.

And in the middle of the closest rock covered hill a horse stood, eyes blinking in the brightest of light as he sniffed for the one he knew, the one who owned him, and yes, the one who loved him. There was nothing on the air or in the wind that told him where to look, the only place the animal knew was where he'd last seen him. With a steady rhythm of hoof beats, the horse trotted to the flat, dry land, ears pointed up, ever listening, eyes darting back and forth, ever searching, and when he came to a rock covered mound in the dirt, he stopped. This was where his master had dropped from his back. This was where he'd fallen and this is where Traveler would stay.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The sound of an incoming stage brought Slim Sherman's head up, taking his eyes away from the harness that he was mending to view the stagecoach that just rolled into his sight. It was late arriving, so seeing the familiar team of horses being led by Mose, his friend and faithful driver pulling into the Sherman Relay Station was not only a welcoming sight, but an encouraging one as well. Slim stood, grateful that he had reason to set aside the mending chores, although there were other equally as tedious tasks that his hands would have to take on once the stage rolled out again. Ranch work never ended and always seemed to stack higher and higher when his partner, Jess Harper, wasn't home, as he hadn't been the past seventeen days.

With a throaty "whoa", Mose pulled the team to a stop and when the horses' hooves were still, he stood from his seat, stretching the kinks from his back as he drew a lopsided grin on his face at the sight of Slim. "Howdy, Slim."

"Hi, Mose," Slim placed his hands on the lead chain and paused, watching as Mose slowly stepped off of the coach. "You're late coming in. Anything happen?"

"Not with me, no," Mose shook his head as he draped an arm over a horse's rump. "Where's Andy? I don't see him bouncing around like usual. I was hoping to get to see him a few more times before he heads on back to school in a few days."

"He's over in the north pasture with that hooligan palomino of his," Slim smiled, although he wondered if the facial feature would soon turn to a frown. Once his brother was back at a desk pouring over schoolbooks in St. Louis, the ornery palomino would be entirely on his and Jess' hands. Slim had already given his word to his brother that he wouldn't sell the animal as he had recently threatened, but without Andy close by to keep him tamed, Slim wasn't sure how long into the future his promise would remain.

"That boy sure loves that critter," Mose grinned as he mopped the sweat from his brow. "Sure's been hot lately. I heard tell that Mrs. Bronson's been cooking her food outside, and not the over an open fire type neither, but frying bacon to a crisp right on the ground."

"Mose," Slim shook his head with a slight smile over Mose's tall tale and then let his hands begin their normal routine of unhooking the team. "You were saying that the delay wasn't on account of you. What was it then?"

"Oh, yeah," Mose scratched the top of his head and then replaced the hat back on his thinning crop of hair. "Almost forgot. There's been lots of hubbub going on in Spartanville about a deserted tumbleweed wagon and all the hoopla about it made everyone over there come to a standstill. I thought I'd have to hook up the team myself when a youngster at the stage depot finally went to work. Anyway, seems that the wagon was late getting to where it was going so a pair of lawmen went looking for it, found it all alone in the middle of the desert. No people, no horses, nothing, just the lone tumbleweed wagon," Mose paused, the moment not needing added emphasis, but Mose gave it anyway as his normal speech was apt to do, "and a single grave."

"A grave?" Slim asked, his hands once more stilled from his work.

"There was a marshal's badge left on top of the stones," Mose continued with a continual nod of his head, "so no doubt about who is buried there. What happened to the other lawman is a mystery though, but what ain't much of a head-scratcher is that the convict, none other than Bruce Stahl, is running free somewhere between Sodium Wells and Spartanville."

"Bruce Stahl," Slim said the name slowly as his motions began once more to change the team. "I've heard quite a number of violent stories about him."

"Likely all of them are true," Mose frowned, drawing his eyes downward at the same time, "now he's gonna be doing them all over again."

"I don't know, Mose, that's pretty rough country out there," Slim let his gaze trail westward to where the land often would bake to a crisp every single summer day at a much hotter temperature than what the people near Laramie were currently experiencing. "There's always the possibility that the land will do what the law hasn't fully been able to accomplish."

"True enough," Mose agreed with a shrug of his shoulders as he pitched in to help lead the new team of horses to the stagecoach. "The lawmen certainly found nothing when they looked around everywhere. No tracks, not a sign of anything, but then again, that hot sand gets blown around so much, even the coyotes forget where they dig their holes. Anyhow, when they gave up searching, they brought the tumbleweed wagon on into Spartanville where everyone and their dog had to get a glimpse of it. I had to get a look, too. It was kinda eerie if you ask me. Not just a traveling jail, but sort of a barred coffin. At least that's the way I saw it."

"I'm sure you're not the only one with similar feelings on the matter. Well, you're ready to go, Mose," Slim patted the older man on the shoulder, knowing that if the stage driver was to continue to relay the tumbleweed story to every stage stop on the line, he'd only get further delayed.

"All right, Slim," Mose hoisted himself to the driver's seat. "I'll see you the next time around. Say 'hello' to Andy for me."

"Will do, Mose," Slim nodded and then with a raise of his hand, he watched as the horses responded to Mose's hearty command to begin their trek back onto the main road.

Slim slowly lowered the friendly wave, bringing his hand to his belt where he hooked the thumb around the belt loop. The other hand was quick to follow suit and he stood still in this position, his eyes staring straight ahead, but not seeing the familiar sight of his home as his mind wasn't with his body, but traveling ahead to somewhere on the trail where his partner ought to be. Trouble had a way of finding him, no matter where Jess wound up. Sometimes Jess looked for it, but a lot of times, he stumbled into a mess while it was happening, and being the man that Jess was, he would stay locked in its depth until it was resolved. If Jess happened to take the shortcut home, even if it was through the hottest part of the territory, there was always the possibility that the particular ride would turn into another one of those tumultuous times. It was the sound of an incoming rider, Andy on Cyclone, that corrected his focus to the current scenery, but it wasn't until Andy dismounted and spoke, the obvious questioning tone in his brother's voice that fully snapped him from his reverie.

"Is something wrong, Slim?"

"No," Slim released his thumbs from his belt loops, changing his facial expression to a slight smile as he placed a hand on Andy's shoulder. It felt odd, at least that's how Slim described the feeling, to hide his sudden worry from Andy. After all his little brother, or perhaps it would've been best to now address him as his younger brother, was no longer just a boy that he needed to protect from the dangers of truth. Andy was growing into a man and Slim was fast discovering during his recent break from school that it wasn't necessary to constantly shield him as he did when he was a small boy. But this was about Jess or maybe about nothing at all, and for now what Slim felt, real or not, would remain hidden.

"Did the stage finally come?" Andy asked, prodding his brother to see if the worry lines around Slim's eyes that also reflected at his mouth when he'd ridden in were about the overdue coach.

"Yeah," Slim said with a short nod. "Mose was driving and said all was well along the route."

Had he just lied? Slim immediately went back to the harness that he'd been working on, yet his hands didn't take on the motions of mending, but more like fidgeting with the unraveled strands as his emotions, a mixture of anxiety and guilt, wouldn't allow him to focus. He was grateful that Andy hadn't asked any further questions and had returned to his horse to properly tend to the animal, getting him settled in a stall for the oncoming nightfall, but Slim knew at that moment that there'd be little work left to be done in his day.

He didn't relax, but Slim was able to keep his face without the pinched expression of worry as Andy chatted about Cyclone and how he insisted that his horse was getting better every day about not being so difficult to keep. Slim wasn't sure that was an altogether true opinion, but it was a safe topic to discuss, so he was grateful that the palomino stayed at the center of their conversation for as long as it did. It wasn't until the table had been set for supper when Slim felt his worries become freshened once more.

"When do you suppose Jess is going to get back?" Andy asked, breaking open wide the tension in the room.

"I'm sure he'll be back soon," Slim answered without looking up.

"He'd better," Andy said with a shake of his head. "I only have five more days before I have to leave for school. I've got to be able to see Jess before then."

"He'll be here, Andy," Slim's words were received like a promise, but in his heart, it wasn't fully made. Jess was late coming home. The maximum two weeks that they'd figured his absence would be had already come and gone with three additional days added on to it, but Slim knew there was no putting an exact timetable on any of the things that Jess had faced since he left. There was no control over the land and the obstacles that it dished out on a daily basis, the mount that he rode and its overall health, the business that he tended and the one on the opposite end of the deal, or any relaxing that might have occurred on the trail, coming or going, and there was definitely no controlling an escaped convict, a killer. There was no way of knowing if the two had even come near to crossing paths, but if they had, the delay could become permanent, and that was a dread that was impossible to shake. Andy wouldn't be the only one heartbroken if Jess never would return.

It was hard to sleep when it was hot, or at least that was the excuse that Slim gave Andy when the younger Sherman found his brother yawning at the breakfast table the following morning. Slim had set out cold biscuits and fresh milk, but only one of the two at the table would down any, and it wasn't Slim. He knew that work needed to be done, worries or not, and as Slim stood to find a place to begin, he heard the sound of a pair of horses from the top of the hill start coming in.

Sheriff Mort Cory paused at the crest of the hill above the Sherman ranch house, looking down at the picture of serenity. His news was about to change all of that, not just the mood, but the setting, for it could never be the same with a vital piece of it missing. With a sigh he nudged his horse onward, pulling the reins of another mount behind him. Mort knew the moment his presence was detected when the front door was opened and Slim walked through the door. He wished he hadn't come, hadn't needed to bring the horse along with him, but even as Mort fought with the dread and wishes that couldn't come true, he knew Slim needed to know, and by the look in his eyes, Mort wondered if the man somehow already knew.

"Mort," Slim's eyes showed concern as he quickly darted them from meeting Mort's gaze to the horse standing beside the lawman's mount, its identity being unmistakably Jess' faithful companion, Traveler. Slim rubbed his fingers around the small white mark and then lifted his eyes back to Mort as the sheriff stepped out of the saddle and onto the ground. "Where'd you find him?"

"I didn't," Mort shook his head, the sadness from his heart being conveyed in that solemn action, "but a farmer by the name of Steven Gray did. He found him next to a freshly dug grave, standing all alone. Even with the need for water, Traveler didn't want to be led away from there and only perked up when he got closer to Laramie."

"Why would Traveler do that?" Slim asked, although if he'd heard the question come out of someone else's mouth, he probably would have given the person the same look Mort was casting his way now. The answer, however, he didn't want to hear, yet, Slim already knew it, and he was thankful that Mort didn't voice it aloud. A man's animal, especially one as devoted as Traveler was to Jess, would stay in the place where his master had fallen or, where the horse had last seen him, either way, it had been at a gravesite.

"I'm sorry, Slim," Mort dropped his eyes, for looking into the grief stricken face of his friend was becoming too much to be able to stand.

"No," Slim dropped his jaw. "It just can't be. Jess is not… he's not… he can't be dead."

"I realize that there's no positive proof," Mort rubbed the back of his neck, letting his hand linger there for a moment as he thought through his next words. "But Jess is overdue and as far as I know, no one's heard from him since he left a couple of weeks ago so it's mighty hard to avoid the possible truth. When Stev…"

"Who is this Steven Gray?" Slim interrupted quickly, not even apologizing to Mort that he'd done so. "How do we know he's telling the truth? Did he kill Jess and is just lying about this to cover up his guilt?"

"Slim," Mort couldn't help but letting a soft sigh escape his lips before he continued. "I've known Steven Gray for almost as many years as I've known you. He's a hardworking man that has somehow tamed a small corner of that desert to make it a home for his family. He has a wife and four kids with another on the way. He's not the type of man to kill or lie for any reason. He was on his way to town when he found the unmarked grave and Jess' mount and brought him to me in Laramie to see if I could identify him. I did, which means that I…" he paused to clear his throat as it was getting thicker by the minute, "… that I most likely identified the body in the grave, too."

Slim dug his teeth into his lip, desperately trying to use the sensation of pain to thwart the fiery moisture from seeping from his eyes. It wasn't that he was ashamed to show his true feelings in front of Mort, but because he knew he was being watched by a younger set of eyes, he had to keep himself restrained to the best of his ability. He dropped his eyes to the ground, but he didn't see the dirt that was a part of his own soil, but could see the hard packed earth in a much hotter climate, next to a set of stones that were part of a grave. No, not Jess!

"I know that it's hard news to take, Son," Mort reached his hand out and touched Slim on the shoulder, receiving an acknowledging nod for doing so.

"Where is the…" Slim didn't want to say the word out loud, so he hoped Mort understood what he meant when he purposely skirted around it. "…I mean…it located?"

"The best description that I got was that the grave is roughly twenty miles southwest of Sodium Wells."

"It's brutal out there this time of year," Slim said slowly and quietly. He should know, for he'd spent enough time in the roughest country in the territory while he searched and then battled Vernon Kane to be fully aware of its never ending threats. A man could die in a short time for any reason, even one as experienced and strong as Jess. But a man alone, such as Jess was supposed to have been, couldn't have buried himself. Someone had to do it. Where was that man? "But there are still so many questions and I've got to have answers."

"I know, Slim," Mort nodded, "and I promise you'll be the first to know if I learn of any news about it. For now, though, I'm afraid all we have is what's laid out in front of us."

"Which might be all that we ever get," Slim said the words softly, as if he was afraid that saying them too loud would make it become the truth.

"I should get back to town," Mort took the reins of his horse in hand, but he retained his paused position before he mounted, another difficult subject to be brought up ready on his lips. "Let me know if you need help with a funeral."

There wasn't any way that Slim could give a vocal response, so with an understanding nod from his head, Mort topped his horse and started along the frequently traveled path to Laramie. Slim stood still, unable to move, unable to think, not even realizing that Andy had stepped along his side until a hand was placed on his forearm. He didn't jump at the touch, but the obvious startling was noticed in his eyes as he turned to look at his brother, who didn't fail to notice the strange expression on Slim's face at all.

"Did I hear the sheriff say something about a funeral?" Andy asked, the fear already began registering in his voice. "Whose funeral?" The fear was more than clutching around his throat now. "Slim!"

"Andy," Slim closed his eyes as he turned to his brother and placed both hands on the teenager's shoulders. "It's Jess. He is, or I guess I should say he might be, or at least there's reason to believe that he's…"

"He's not dead," Andy said sharply, doing so out of dread and not in an angry retort.

"Yes, Andy," Slim opened his eyes once more, the soft blue swimming in moisture as he looked at a pair of brown that were doing more than that. "Jess might be gone."

"Might be," Andy shook his head hard several times as he echoed his brother's words, "he either is or he isn't."

This was hard. Too hard. Slim stepped away from Andy and leaned against the hitching rail where Traveler was still tied to. His brother was right, and it was the declaration made by Andy that had been the fight that Slim had felt inside of his heart since Mort had borne the bad news to him, refusing to let the grief totally win. A man was either dead or alive. There was absolutely nothing in between to be. Jess was one or the other and everything that was inside of Slim had to know, otherwise, he'd never be able to let go or even attempt to carry on.

"Slim?"

"Andy," Slim's voice was close to a whisper, but he didn't turn his eyes upon his brother to see if he'd heard him, but kept his gaze focused on the image in his mind that he refused to let go of, and that was a clear picture of his partner, smiling and whole, yet always ready for a fight, even if there wasn't one around. Surely that fight hadn't gone out, but was still blazing like the fiery embers that made Jess Harper glow. "Andy," he said again, this time a notch louder, "I have to…"

"I know, Slim," Andy barely nodded, seeing something similar in his own mind's sight as Slim, although to Andy, he was seeing his first look at Jess all over again, right from the moment he came riding into their lives. "You have to find out the truth. So do I, and that's why I'm going too."

"I can't let you, Andy," Slim said slowly and then finally turning to view his brother, he added quickly, "not because I don't think you're capable, but because I need you here. The ranch, the stagecoaches, the stock, it all has to be tended to."

"You've used old Ben before when you and Jess were both away and I was at school," Andy didn't want to sound like he was pleading, but he was getting close to it, "he'd come stay and help out, please Slim. Jess is everything to me."

"Andy," Slim paused, placing both hands on his brother's shoulders. "That's some really dangerous country that I'll be getting into and I honestly don't know what I'm going to find once I get out there, especially once I leave Sodium Wells behind me. We need to hold onto any shred of hope that Jess is still alive, but I also know that we might be facing the worst, and that we've lost him. Forever. While I'm out there finding out, I need to know that you're safe right here at home, otherwise, I'll be worrying about both of my brothers."

"All right, Slim, I'll stay on only one condition," Andy spoke so much like a man that Slim couldn't help but show the look of surprise that flashed through his eyes, and he expected that whatever Andy was about to say, he would agree to because he wasn't dealing with a kid anymore, but a young man who deserved the respect that he would give him. "I won't go back to school until I know if Jess is dead or alive."

"I won't argue with that," Slim answered truthfully, shifting his eyes to the barn. "I better get ready to go."

Andy stayed by Slim's side as he prepared to leave, packing food, getting the extra canteens, but while he kept his body in motion, he felt as if he was standing still, being held down by an extreme weight. The feeling intensified when Slim fitted his hands inside of his gloves, the final action that needed to be taken before he mounted. Andy looked up at his brother, wishing he was going along, but even more than that, he wished that Jess was all right. In the middle of some of that wishing, a few prayers were added too.

"Slim, be careful…" Andy began, the hesitancy showing the fear that was felt not just inside the younger Sherman's heart, but the older one's too, "and bring Jess back to us."

"I will," Slim nodded, his promise not entirely focusing on one or the other.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

When a mile felt closer to ten, and the amount of time it took to tick off the singular stretch of distance was well beyond a normal man's capabilities, all that followed the first one was dismissed from Jess' mind. All that he could focus on was the reason to keep moving, to go forward no matter how much time it took and no matter how much pain it caused, inside and out. He was dry, painfully dry. His skin, even what was protected by his clothes and hat, was parched, felt burnt and tender to touch and he knew if he tried to lick his lips one more time they'd come close to falling off.

His socks already had holes in them before he'd even started on his journey, as Jess had never been very handy with a needle and thread. Now, the socks were more than what one would call in need of repair, yet they were all that Jess had to protect his feet from the desert's surface. His big toe stuck out and the heel of his right foot felt every grain of sand that he stepped on, but it was the shackles around his ankles that caused him the most pain. Bruce Stahl had been scrawny, his ankle bones rather visible where the iron had been clasped. On Jess, the same area's circumference was much wider, making the circular contraption that bound him tight from the very beginning of his wearing them. After hours being on his feet, they dug into his flesh like a hot knife chipping away at his skin until his ankles became bloody and raw, dripping downward to stain his socks with more than just the color of earth.

Jess felt his eyes began to droop, but with a shake of his head they were back open, only to flicker a few more times before they closed for longer than a few seconds. All the while, Jess continued to walk, bringing his head up whenever his chin bobbed down too close to his chest. With eyes closed, his straight line was no longer a precise measurement, and as his instincts began to tap him on the shoulder that he was headed too far southerly, Jess ground his teeth together and lifted his lashes, forcing them to stay open except to do a simple blink to get back on a steady path. His resolve at the time was able to keep him going, but no matter how much he fought it, Jess' exhaustion would remain, especially the deeper he tread into the afternoon hours.

Every breath hurt, but if he didn't take them, he wouldn't keep living, just as if he couldn't take another step, he'd die. He was battered and bruised, but he wasn't yet broken. The chains wanted to do him in, but all they could do was keep his outer self bound, but they could do nothing to what was inside of him. After all, Jess Harper was still Jess Harper. The grit, the tenacity, the stubborn nature that was built on strength and strife would still prevail no matter what came against him. The shackles would have to do better than that to destroy Jess' deeply imbedded character. And they would most definitely try. If it wasn't for what made Jess the type of man that he was, his story would have ended before the journey had ever begun.

As the sun angled to the west but refused to give up its heat, Jess' body began to sway as his walk turned into a shuffle and the boots that Jess had kept under his arm dropped to the ground. The heat had complete control of his mind, making him unaware that the boots had fallen, while the sound that they made that would have alerted him to their departure as they hit the dirt was muted by the constant clanking of the chains. Jess didn't notice their absence until he stumbled, righting himself as he flung his arms as wide as they could go to correct his balance before he fell and nothing separated from his clasp. Circling to see if the boots were close by, Jess eyed their dark image, but being too far in the reverse direction, Jess left them there, unwilling to backtrack any distance at all to reclaim them when every step he needed to take was in the opposite direction.

Darkness finally settled over the land and Jess stopped before he dropped. There was too much pain and too little comfort to sleep, but the night air without its suffocating hold was enough to refresh his mind from its heated haze to think more clearly. When the morning light, even just as the first ray of dawn struck, Jess took a wide look in every direction. It looked familiar, eerily familiar, yet something was significantly wrong with the scene he was viewing. The tumbleweed wagon was nowhere to be seen. The box-like structure would have been visible in the wide open nothingness, even as just a speck at its farthest distance, but Jess had traveled far enough that the stout structure on wheels should have been in his sight. Walking until the noon hour peaked didn't produce its image either. The tumbleweed wagon that he'd counted on for his survival was gone.

The feeling of being lost, making it that far for nothing took its toll on Jess worse than the constant battle with the heat did. His thoughts were faint, mere wisps of images that were getting harder to cling to. Jess felt light, too light, as if he was a feather released from a majestic bird that couldn't stay floating in the wind, but began to drop, spiraling downward in an out of control motion until it met with the earth. The ground was now level with his face, his fall literally unfelt, like the feather would have met the sand. Jess tried to pull his feet back underneath him, but they wouldn't respond, defeat pressing into his backbone as he lay in unmoving agony. He had never been the type of man to cry, and even if a tear could have formed in his eye, the sun would have dried it before he had even known it was there, but the feeling that brought on misty eyes in a normal person was pushing higher inside of Jess' chest.

Unconsciousness didn't want him, the heat and the pain wanted him more, so there was no respite anywhere, only remaining in its clutch. Jess struggled for every part of his life, the normal functions that kept his organs at work, but also in a deeper level where emotions resided in the core of his heart. His hope of making it home to the Sherman ranch where he'd been taught that his life held a rich purpose began to fade. Love, however, couldn't be dimmed, like the sun never quit shining. Except, Jess shook his head, thinking that his own light was going out as the sun began to dim, maybe all that he felt on the inside was about to go with it. But then a roaring noise met his ears.

Dust storm. He didn't spend a lot of time staring at the formidable sight that explained the sun's sudden departure, and as his head slowly turned from left to right putting the dust cloud behind him, he saw what he already knew to be true. There wasn't any shelter that he could get to. Even if his legs weren't bound by the menacing chains and forced to the ground by their imprisonment, Jess couldn't run fast enough to the nearest outcropping of rocks to find even a small amount of safety. He had nothing, and as he knew that the elements would unleash absolutely everything it had to offer, he had a choice to continue to fight or to fully give in. Jess pulled his handkerchief over his nose and mouth and as he was already low to the ground, he flattened himself even lower to the level of the earth. He tugged on his hat until the rim half covered his eyes, not knowing if it would still be in place when the dust stopped swirling. Putting his face down into his folded arms, he took a few short, yet clean breaths, and waited for the vengeance to strike him.

The howling winds whipped over his back in hot bursts before the grating sand made its entrance. With the way the wind raged and Jess' intentional placement of his body with his feet pointing in the direction of the oncoming wind, the dirt started piling up around Jess' feet and made a mound over the shackles that were attached to them, creeping up the back of his legs to where the back of his knees dipped down. The muscular forms of his body, his thighs and higher up where he braced his shoulders tight sheltered his head from the brunt of the storm so he didn't suffocate throughout its ongoing wrath.

It wasn't over, but the dirt in the air and the roar of the wind was less intense, unless his ears were so clogged with the miniscule particles Jess wasn't hearing correctly. Testing the conditions, he lifted his lashes and could see through the mass of brown colored air, but the grating in his eyes made him shut them tight again before he could gauge whether the dust storm was truly letting up or not, but with just a few more minutes waiting in stillness, as the sounds began to diminish, Jess felt that the worst of the dirt was behind him, or covering him.

There was dirt everywhere, up or down his pants, whichever the way a body would look at it, nevertheless, inside of all of his clothing, rubbing into his skin with Jess' every movement like someone was literally taking a rough surface and scraping him with it. He couldn't pick himself up, his weakness was too strong, but he was able to roll his legs until his lower portions were no longer covered in a pile of dust and debris. Jess moved his arms, letting the dirt crumble back to the ground where it belonged and then reached for his head, surprised to find his hat where he had clamped it when the storm arose. He removed the once black hat, shaking the excess dirt from its top and then replaced it back on his head, feeling relief in its lighter form without the weight of the world on top of it.

Finally being able to open his eyes for longer than a few seconds at a time, Jess looked out at the even more pronounced dirt laden country and the stark reality of what he was viewing suddenly struck him in the face. Nothing had gone untouched by the raging storm clouds, even the tiniest things had been fully covered in inches of dust, including a discarded key. Jess had to have been close, the distance that he'd traveled had proven so, but even if the key was five feet in front of him, he would never find it. It was gone, just like he would be when the desert was finished with him. There wasn't any way he could go on now. There was no water, no key, no future. Jess bit his lip, tasting the dry flavor of earth as he did so, rekindling a memory from his beginning moments at the ranch when Andy told him, "you gotta eat a peck of dirt before you die." Jess ran his tongue over his lower lip, the taste still the same, yet somehow becoming bittersweet, knowing that he was going to die. He pulled the handkerchief away from his mouth, the small, thin piece of blue fabric that Jess had thought would save him from the dirt crusted elements had done so for a time, but it couldn't stop the inevitable forever. The desert would kill him anyway.

"Dear God, help me," Jess uttered little sound as he spoke, and if there had been anyone close enough to hear him, not a single word would have been audible, but they rose on high to a listening ear where no translation was needed.

He heard the rumbling in the air and it brought a groan to his chest as Jess thought that the dust storm was gearing up strength again to fully claim his life, but while the wind still howled, something was tamping the dust clouds back to the ground. Jess lifted his head, hearing the dizzying sound of the flying dirt being replaced by a staccato rhythm marching across the desert from behind him. Just as he turned his head to look at what approached, a flash of lightning erupted in the sky, the thunder reverberating like an explosion three seconds later. Another display of light split through the air before the previous thunder had finished rolling, bringing with it something cool and wet and wonderful.

Rain. It pelted the ground with a fury that only a thunderstorm could unleash but it wasn't received like an angry punch from the sky, but a saving grace. Jess cupped his hands, the small bowl being filled in seconds and then he brought it to his lips, the taste felt as good as it smelled, like the heavens had prepared it just for him. The very air was cleansed by the torrent, scrubbing every particle of dirt from the atmosphere and as Jess looked up, the brown was completely gone, replaced by a different shade, closer to black in the voluminous thunderclouds that poured water down to his level, dripping off of his lashes and down his nose where his lips continued to savor every drop. It soaked through his clothes and nourished his skin as it fed Jess' body both outwardly and inwardly with its soothing, comforting flow.

The ground quickly turned to mud, but as the underneath layer was still hard packed ground, once the top level of dust storm produced dirt was thoroughly saturated, the rain could absorb no further. Every minute that the torrent was still being unleashed produced more water from the sky than what the earth could hold, turning the mud into a puddle that spread as far and wide as the desert was long. Every ditch, rut, hole and creek bed became filled and even if only as temporary as the thunderstorm prevailed, the desert was producing life.

Jess wanted to dance in the waterlogged soil, but his bound ankles prevented him from getting to his feet, so he swept his arms back and forth in an almost swim-like pattern, feeling like he'd stepped backward twenty years and been caught in a rain squall as a rambunctious child. Small waves lapped in the direction of Jess' movements, shifting some of the mud aside with its outward flow and as his hand reached out once more to grasp a handful of water to drink, Jess' hand touched something solid. Jess wrapped his fist tight and slowly drew it close to his face, sensing by its size and shape what was enclosed in his palm. As he opened his fist, the raindrops that were beginning to diminish rinsed any remaining mud away from Jess' palm to reveal in the center of Jess' hand, the key. Working as quickly as his body could function, although it was actually in a more mesmerized slowness, Jess stuck it into the lock to his wrists and it turned, and then did the same to his feet. By might and miracle, Jess was unshackled and free.

The storm clouds rolled away, like Jess rolled the shackles across the muddy ground, revealing a different form of darkness that was the night sky. It wasn't long until Jess shivered, for his wet body meeting with the sunless air produced a chill that he hadn't felt in a lengthy time. There wouldn't be a complaint formed in his mind over the sudden change of temperature, even as he lay in the squishy muck that was underneath him that made him even colder. Quivering couldn't really hurt him, it kept him awake, but only the heat could steal his life.

More than his outer self was touched with the nip in the air, for Jess' mind was reconnecting with a coherency that couldn't be obtained in the presence of the sun. Slim. His name came first, and then his voice somewhere in his head, followed by the taller man's image, and then he relived the memories. Not in the hardships, for the small family at the Sherman ranch had seen their plenteous share and then some, but it was in the good times, the best times, the precious times, this was what Jess needed and where he placed his mind upon. He stayed like this, remembering the littlest details, longing for their return until the night was over.

Jess was no longer bound by the chains, but their consequences still held onto him as the marks on his ankles and wrists were as pronounced as the new hue the rain had turned the sand, along with the way his body still was flat with the ground. The water from the sky had fed him and cleansed him, but it couldn't heal his wounds. It had revived him and strengthened him, but the shower couldn't pick him up off of the desert floor. Yet Jess couldn't just lay there like he was licked, for if he remained as he was, the menacing land would put him right back in the condition as he was before the thunderstorm had touched him, and it still could. But as long as Jess still had a breath of air inside of him, he would somehow carry on.

Crawling, however, didn't put much distance behind him. The storm clouds had long rolled away, bringing in its stead the glow of the sun all over again. The land quickly forgot the rain, releasing its memory first in the form of steam and then in an invisible evaporation until the ground was dry enough to once more swirl around puffs of dust. Day turned to night, and still Jess crept along the earth's surface, for his swollen, blistered feet couldn't yet support him. Even though it was the only time he could stay hidden from the sun, Jess didn't want to revel in the star dotted sky and rest, but kept himself pressing forward to cover more distance when the air wasn't as difficult to draw in. The sun would return, for another day was born, coming with just as much vengeance as before, and not long into its searing temperature rise, Jess, like the dirt beneath his body as he crawled, began to crumble.

The rain could only sustain him for so long. It had fed him with moisture, but as the sweat had already whisked it away, it could do him no further good. The heat of the sun was as hot as it had ever been, searing through his clothes like he was carrying a campfire on his back. Jess was exhausted, in pain, and at the end of the line. He had thought if he could make it to Sodium Wells he could call the journey complete, but somewhere in the darkness of the night he'd taken the wrong unseen path, turned his head in the wrong direction and was once more too far from any rescue. There was a hill not far ahead of him, covered in rocks much larger than the hills deeper into the desert boasted, but there wasn't any encouragement in the change of terrain. He would never make it. Not over the hill or around the hill to see if there was anything helpful on the other side. He was finished. Jess crawled to the base of the hill to find a rock that would become his headstone.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

He had a location, or at least a rough estimate of where to look, but even with that piece of information tucked safely inside of his mind, Slim knew that it wasn't a sure thing that he'd find the gravesite in any timely manner. The land beyond Sodium Wells, cruel and unforgiving, was mile after mile of total monotony. Every hill, dead tree stump and dried up water bed looked the same, had the same unpleasant odor and gave the same brutality throughout every inch of its ongoing space. The sun was high and hot, although it would have cast a high mark on a thermometer just after sunrise, now it was baking hot enough to peel his hide off if any of it became exposed. Although it meant that he might have to travel longer to find what he was searching for, Slim turned his horse to walk in the shade of the hills as long as he possibly could, waiting until the sun would dip down to the other side before embarking into the wide barrenness that spread wide and open for miles in every direction.

It was getting closer to being that more welcoming time of day when Slim's plans of escaping the security of the rocky hills were drastically changed. Slim heard the sound before he saw it, knowing before he turned his head to view the wall of dirt debris that his search for the day would be over, for he knew he couldn't go onward without shelter in the face of an impending dust storm. With little encouragement needed to get his horse to climb into the safety of the rocks, Slim secured his mount and then took cover. The sound overwhelmed him as the dust hit and for the next two hours there was nothing to hear but the wail of wind whooshing the grains of sand, dust, and multiple dirt laden pieces of shrubbery over his head. When it finally started to subside there was no more sunlight, only dust tinged light as overhead clouds blocked the sun's worst rays, and not too far to Slim's northwest the cause of the blowing dirt was raging on in the form of a thunderstorm. With little else that he could do, Slim pulled his dust filled hat lower to his eyes and hunkered down once more, trying to find some sleep until the full throttle of the storms were over.

The sun was back, declaring the start of a new morning and the first ray of light hitting his face awoke him as if he'd been hit in the same spot with a pail of water. Slim stood, surveying his surroundings with a shake of his head and a sigh of relief that he'd made it through unharmed. If he had thought everything shared the same appearance the day before, it was even more pronounced now. The dust, still swirling with every wisp of air, settled onto everything in Slim's sight with a thick, tan layer of choke inducing filth. He wore enough of it himself, and no amount of pounding his hat against his thigh would remove enough of the grit from his body to feel even remotely clean. After a short drink of water, Slim mounted his horse, letting his gaze from atop of the animal drift a little farther than his own height could do and he saw the line in the distance where the land had been changed into a different scenery where the rain from the thunderstorm had changed the dust to mud. Slim turned away from it, for it wasn't in the direct area he needed to go, knowing that before the day was over the sun would return it to its usual miserable, powdery dryness and that would be what he would meet if his search ended up in that region of the desert later on.

There was no rushing around in heat laden wilderness. A horse could easily give out on a man if taken too roughly in such terrain and Slim wasn't about to risk losing his trusted animal, yet it made the length of each hour that they slowly trudged onward painfully long. There was a real ache throughout Slim's body, around his heart mostly, but pinched together behind his shoulders and down his back from the high level of tension that he carried with him. He kept repeating in his mind that Jess could still be alive, but just as pronounced as the head created words were being formed the fear pounded in the same region of his body, because he knew that the truth could be real and ugly, and what he felt now would become intensified in a sorrowful way that he would then truly have to carry forever. He battled these emotions, over and over, hour by hour, up and around hills and into the flatter land until he left the dimly shaded hills for good, walking his horse into the type of country where the only living things were buzzards that circled high above looking for their daily intake.

From a distance, Slim saw something slightly raised from the ground's smooth level, but even with a squint of his eyes, he couldn't make out its proper definition, and yet, by instinct, or what Slim wouldn't have really wanted to admit the feeling was, he knew exactly what he was looking at and with dread, he urged his horse to its location. The pace remained its slowness, perhaps now even slower, for it wasn't a journey set by excitement that Slim was making, but one of potential great sorrow, but the span did shorten, now showing Slim that indeed there was a grave in front of him, which brought a tightness to form around his chest that did more than ache, but felt like it was literally bleeding inside of his unbroken flesh.

Slim stopped his horse, and with nothing to tie the reins to, he just let the animal make the choice to stand still or wander, but all he did was sniff the ground, as if he was searching too, resembling what his master was doing. Like most men did when in the presence of someone departed, whether in the midst of a full cemetery or a lone grave such as this, Slim took his hat from his head, clutching it with a tight grip over his heart. The mourning expression on his face was clearly evident, but with only a horse there to view it, no one could see or even understand the intensity of grief that hammered in Slim's entire body. It didn't bother Slim to not have anyone witness his heartache, for what he felt and for who it was for, a friend, a partner, a man named Jess Harper that was as close to him as his own brother was all that mattered to him. Or was it? The grave was real, of that there was no doubt, but was the name that belonged to it the right one?

There was someone buried there. Was it Jess? Was it someone else? He had to know. He could not leave that place without knowing the name of the man and if it was truly one and the same of his best friend. Slim looked around for any sign, any marker that would indicate the identity, but there was nothing. Nothing but rocks topping a dirt covered grave that covered a lifeless body that couldn't reach out and tell him what he needed to know. But maybe it could, because the man that was there was all the sign he would need.

Slim dropped to his knees beside the gravesite, his eyes looking up to the sky as if he could see the answer somewhere in the depths. Only blue met his vision and even that was dulled by the constant pulsating heat that radiated from the ball of glowing yellow high above him, so if there was something to seek in its vastness, he couldn't find it. Yet, the more that he looked, from somewhere up beyond the blue, he felt a nod of approval, for it wasn't without respect or caring that was making Slim respond in such a manner, it was devotion to a friend but it was also in a friend's devotion to him. If Jess was dead and buried right there next to him, and Slim prayed to God that he wasn't, but he knew that his partner would want Slim to know the truth, and the truth was there underneath the rocks.

A sigh went through Slim's lips as he lowered his head once more. He remained this way, bowed in reverence for several minutes and then he could hold still no longer. Slim's hands reached out so slowly at first it wasn't obvious that he was moving them, but when his fingertips touched the closest stone his pace quickened and he lifted the stone away, setting it gently in the dirt behind him to replace it when he had his answer. One by one he removed the stones that someone had taken the care to place there when they'd buried the dead but the more he removed, the more his hands began to shake. As Slim set the last necessary rock aside, a noise began inside of his chest, rumbling at first in a sound that was unfamiliar to his ears, like a groan, but filled with much more intense pain. It rolled up into his throat and was released as a silent sob until the tears in his eyes caught up with the internal throbbing and when the first one slipped down his cheek, the noise of grief came from Slim's mouth, but he would do nothing to attempt to stop it and he knew nothing could. Unless, but Slim couldn't process any further than a single word of hope, for it was too difficult to grasp onto something that could only shatter moments later into a pain that would never cease.

Slim put his hand in the dirt, still soft from the recent disturbance of the earth when it had become a grave and as if he was being guided to a precise location, his fingers touched another set of fingers. The jolt in his body was strong enough that the dirt spilled away where his hand had entered and what it revealed made Slim's heart rate rapidly increase and his body began to quake, but there wasn't gut-wrenching pain to go with it. Jess' hand, up to his wrist and beyond were solidly shaped, made that way by years of hard work that never shirked even if the duty was a grueling one. His hands were strong, callused, yet masculine as Slim's were but worn even rougher. These were precise details of his partner that Slim hadn't fully paid attention to until now, and knowing this in that very moment made all the difference in the world. The dead man's hand was scrawny, without work worn power or might and if that discovery hadn't been enough, he also bore the shadowed mark of shackles on his wrist.

Bruce Stahl was buried there, not Jess Harper. The shaking continued to course through Slim's body, most noticeably in his hands as they reached up to cover his face. The tears were gone, yet the emotions were digging even deeper into his soul, but the intensity that had struck him before with grief and fear was now replaced with immense gratitude and the feeling inside couldn't be contained as it began to pour from his lips to the only one that could hear it. "Thank God, it's not him, it's not Jess, thank you, thank you, God."

After replacing the final stone back onto the grave, Slim stepped backward, taking in its entire view with a much different emotion than when he'd first arrived at its site. He had brought two sticks from the ranch that he'd planned on fashioning together to form a cross at the head of the grave, but as the hole in the ground didn't belong to Jess Harper, the wood pieces would remain where they were. Although relief flooded his soul, the fear for his partner couldn't completely be dismissed, and the thought that the cross could still be put to use soon made his heart hammer loudly once more. Slim returned to his horse, giving the animal a long drink of water out of his hat before replacing the canteen back on his saddle. He still needed to complete his quest and as there was nothing left for him to do there, Slim nudged his horse into motion as the search for Jess took on another level of intensity.

Traveler being found at the gravesite was strong enough evidence for Slim to believe that Jess had buried the convict, although it remained unknown if Jess had been the one to kill him or if the sun's harmful elements had done the damage. Why Jess' faithful companion wasn't with him remained a mystery and unless Bruce Stahl had his own horse that Jess took the liberty to ride, it was obvious that he was without a mount. Walking, and for the amount of time that it would take to get anywhere in that endless land of nothingness, would be the most grueling form of travel Slim could ever imagine and Jess was possibly somewhere out there doing it.

"I'm coming, Pard," Slim said out loud, although he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was already too late.

Direction, however, could have been anywhere. Slim had taken the roundabout way from Sodium Wells and hadn't seen a trace of anyone. It was true that there were extensive miles of land beyond where he had ridden that his eyesight couldn't focus in on where Jess might have been, but he somehow felt that he wouldn't have missed his partner walking alone in the middle of its cruelty without seeing him. Spartanville was in the opposite route, and yet it would have been far, too far to walk. Slim shook his head as he tapped his thigh with his fingers, desperately hoping he was going the right way as he took his horse deeper into the center of the desert, treading farther away from any comforts, however small they might have been.

Darkness was what forced Slim to stop, and as he dismounted and filled his throat with tepid canteen water he knew that both he and his horse needed the rest but while he tried to find some hours of slumber, his inner spirit still roamed the wide lengths of the desert searching for any sign of his partner. How he was able to sleep with the weight of his best friend's life on his mind, he couldn't understand, but the night was able to pass in a quicker span than the daytime while he was in and out of dreamland, and because of that, he was grateful to be refreshed, for there was no telling what the new day would bring.

Continuing onward into the sunlight that felt hotter than the day before felt endless, and without changing directions as the repeated scenery slowly passed him by, Slim fell deeper into discouragement as finding nothing became the regular routine. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd made the wrong choice and should have headed back to Sodium Wells instead of taking aim at the roughest section of the country. If Jess had come this way, surely he would have found him by now. He had just as much as convinced himself to turn east when he paused to run his handkerchief over his face and when his eyes opened once more with a little less dust around its edges, something small and dark met his vision in the middle of the monotonous path that he was on.

He was too far to know what it was, but it was certainly something other than dirt. As he began to head in its direction, a myriad of maybes ran through Slim's mind as to what the object was, with each time that a thought was concluded it brought a slight shake of his head to go with it. A lone buzzard enjoying an afternoon snack? Something from a passing wagon that had dropped off its back? An out of place rock that was casting an odd shadow? Now it was in focus and there was no question as to what it was. A pair of boots. Slim couldn't help but vocalize his puzzlement in the discovery. "Boots? Out here?"

Was there a flicker of light that was lit in Slim's head or was the sun just pounding harder in his temples? Either way, Slim hurried his horse the remaining distance and once nearly on top of the discarded boots he leapt out of the saddle and picked up the dust covered pair of black, leather boots that were as familiar to him as the ones on his own feet. Andy had kept his eye on an exact match to his favorite cowboy's boots in a catalogue but never could afford the cost and had shown the paper print to Slim at every birthday and Christmas that had come around since Jess had moved in and these were those exact boots. The boots in Slim's hands were Jess' boots! He was still alive, at least, when he was right where Slim stood he had been, but how long ago did Jess part with the boots? And why? The soles were still solid and they weren't damaged anywhere else that Slim could see. His feet needed the protection from the unbending earth, how could he go onward without them, walking endlessly on foot? Jess should have been there, right there where the boots had fallen, yet he was gone, as if he had become another part of the forever space of nowhere.

"Jess!" Slim cupped his hands over his mouth, calling repeatedly several times in a tone that became more anguished with each shout. "Jess! Can you hear me? Jess!"

Without an answer to hear, without anything to see, the only thing Slim could do was continue on.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Andy leaned against the porch railing, his teeth clenched together as he followed the road with his eyes until it wound its way out of sight, but just like all of the other times he'd done this same thing, the horizon remained empty. For three whole days. Andy touched the gun on his hip, or more accurately, Jess' gunfighter's gun, but nevertheless, it was strapped to his thigh, hanging from an oversized gun belt that he'd tightened as far as it could cinch just below his more natural looking belt, the one that fastened around his pants. He had put it on the day Slim rode out, not in defiance of his older brother, but because he felt more secure with it there, for without Slim or Jess with him, it was a mighty lonesome house. The gun made a difference, mainly, because of whose gun it belonged to. In a way, he'd always felt safer with Jess around, and whether Jess really was dead, although he harbored every hope in his heart as Slim had that Jess really was alive, but wearing his favorite cowboy's gun brought the drifter turned friend as close as if he still walked the house he lived in.

Throughout Andy's time of being alone he'd done the necessary chores, switched the teams, and answered the questions that he could with mostly a "yes" or "no" response or the overly used, "I don't know". Every day he'd kept the animals fed and watered and stayed filled and hydrated himself, but what filled the majority of the daylight hours was keeping a close watch on the roadway. And wait.

"It takes a man just to wait, a real man." They had been Jonesy's words. In an equally as fearsome event that had threatened to forever change their closely bound family, Jonesy had left Andy alone at the ranch when Captain Sam Prado had taken Slim and Jess hostage. He had waited then, as a man would, although never without a large amount of worry, and he was waiting again now, still carrying a worrisome burden on his shoulders. Only this time there was a difference. Andy was two years older, closer to being a real man in age, stature, and what one could consider most important, in life lessons as well. Jonesy often told him that when he'd survey his weekly book learning, although the comments would come out more to the likes of, "you're gonna turn out to be smarter than a Sunday suit."

He missed Jonesy, but wishing that the older man was with him now wasn't going to change a thing. He stayed in St. Louis, "riding herd" on Andy, but also played the piano for various musical artists that entertained a sold out crowd when the sun went down. The nightly applause suited him well and Jonesy enjoyed the attention, but one look in the old man's eyes could see behind the outer glow that he'd get on the first stage to Wyoming Territory real quick, if only his back would let him. Since Andy didn't want to always be separated from the ranch that bore his and Slim's name, during some of his vacations, the strenuous journey was always taken alone and when he arrived home, despite the closeness between himself, Slim and Jess, it never quite felt the same without Jonesy being there. Slim and Jess knew it too, and maybe that was the reason why both of them often still treated him like he was only a child.

But Andy wasn't a kid anymore. He'd grown up more in the past few months, stepping closer to adulthood than any lengthy stretch of time between two birthdays ever had. Riding with Boone Caudle had created most of that change, for being with him, even though the man was an outlaw, Boone had made Andy feel like a man from the moment he first called him, "mister". Boone might have used him, lied, stolen and perhaps worse things than that in his past, but Andy had liked him, trusted him, and learned a good deal about life in the wild and being on one's own from him and because of that, Andy still felt grateful to the outlaw that had saved and shaped his life in more ways than one. He was beginning to think that it was about time that he used some of what he'd learned along the way, too.

Andy stepped away from the porch and although he walked in the direction of the barn, his eyes never left the road. His body tensed the longer he looked, but by the feeling that made his chest feel tight to take a breath, he somehow knew in his heart what the empty road meant. They weren't coming. Not Slim and not Jess, not now, but Andy would never say not ever again, for he still held some measure of faith in his heart. He'd told Slim he'd wait, and he had. Now, it was time for waiting to turn into action for he couldn't stand another second of doing nothing. Andy saddled Cyclone and headed out and with a promise from Ben that he'd tend to the duties of the ranch, Andy left the familiarity and security of home and set out into the unknown.

A scared man wasn't the smartest man, which was a piece of advice handed down by the most unafraid man that Andy had ever known, Jess. It was true that Slim didn't openly show fear, but it was in the man that Andy had most admired that he'd found a characteristic that would guide him now. Andy couldn't be afraid, for there wasn't room for such thoughts in his head when he needed to remain secure in his wits in the wilderness. He'd learned how to track a trail by both Slim and Jess, learning specific details from each man's own characteristics that he could now use for his own benefit, since now it wasn't just one of them that he was searching for, but both. Andy knew how to ride and had an obedient horse, at least to him anyway, to take him where the trail would eventually lead him, all the way to the desert if need be. What he didn't know was that once he got into the dry country that he'd find a blank slate, without a sign of any horse or rider, even though one, or more, was really out there.

Andy had come as far as Sodium Wells with Slim before, but everything that lay beyond the wooden sign declaring the title of the water source was brand new, far from exciting, yet surprisingly he felt up to its challenge. He'd heard his brother say that it wasn't worth going forward if the spring was dry, and as it barely met that requirement, Andy knew he could continue in security. Yet if anyone would be coming after him, they'd likely not find anything to wet their lips for all that was left after he was through was a layer of mud that would soon turn to dust while the sun dried it to nothingness.

He hadn't traveled deep into the dry lands when Andy realized he had changed the course of direction. Without a road to follow, there wasn't much of a guide to keep on a straight path. He would be remiss to say that he was lost, for Andy knew that he could easily backtrack to Sodium Wells without much difficulty, but he didn't want to go back there yet, not to turn around and succumb so early to defeat. There was a hill in front of him, and most riders would have chosen to go around it, but seeing at a higher level always gave a better advantage than at the bottom of a flat land, so Andy encouraged Cyclone to start climbing.

It was a rough climb, as the rocks became looser the farther they rose, but once safely reaching the top, Andy held his horse still, gazing out over the terrain below him for any sign of a more direct route into the desert than what he'd been on. It troubled him only slightly that there was nothing to be seen except the same windblown dust that hid any trails, but with his eye he picked out a westerly line to aim for when he found the lowest level of land again. Instead of going down the way he came up, Andy chose what appeared to be a smoother route for traversing a downhill grade, starting Cyclone in a zigzagging pattern to the other side.

Andy was nearly halfway down when the view of the land just below him spread open between the largest rocks and at that point he abruptly stopped. There was a body sprawled out at the bottom of the rocky ridge. At first it was unmoving and the rapid heartbeat that thumped in Andy's chest made him think he'd stumbled across a dead man, but when Cyclone took a step backward and sent a trail of gravel down the slope, the man began to move. Andy squinted his eyes, but even if the sun hadn't been causing a bright glare, he would know the familiar shaped face as it rose in his direction. Jess! Andy gave the command for Cyclone to increase his pace, but with uneven footing for a skittish prone mount, the steps were taken much slower than anticipated.

But there was another presence that Andy couldn't see on the same hillside, hidden amidst the crags, but in truth, the man holding tightly to a rifle wasn't seeing everything clearly himself. His clothes were stained with blood and dirt, mostly blood, but the dark colors mixing together in the tattered fabric gave him an eerie look, with the only thing that might have dispelled a gasp if someone were to catch a glimpse of his appearance was a sheriff's star that somehow was still attached by two prongs near his heart. What he viewed, built entirely upon shock and trauma, was a runaway convict and he was now in his sights. He couldn't see that the rider was young, only seeing the small, thin frame resembling Bruce Stahl, and couldn't tell that the horse wasn't a variety that would be once attached to a tumbleweed wagon. He only knew that the man that had put him in such a condition near death was right below him, and he couldn't let him get away to strike another. With a raspy sound in his throat, he steadied the rifle against a rock and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit Andy, the impact spinning his torso so that he no longer sat the saddle and his body hit the hard packed earth, mercifully landing between two oddly jagged rocks, one leg sticking out of the rocky opening to prevent his position from being fully hidden. Unconsciousness blissfully belonged to the boy before he landed as the pain from the gunshot wound drug him into blackness before a mild blow to the head had a chance to do the same. Cyclone, having enough fright to send his thorough training backward, took the remaining hill as if it were a racetrack, his light colored tail whipping in the wind as he ran to a more familiar homeland miles away in the distance.

"No," Jess barely made the word audible as he reached with a hand toward the unmoving foot, his attempt to crawl up the slope proving to be futile.

There was a strange sensation that swept over Jess as he was being cut in half when Andy went down after the crack of a gun. His mind latched onto a part of the boy that couldn't be let go, even with the desperate thoughts about whatever damage that the bullet might have done. Andy was wearing his gun. In the short seconds before the rifle landed Andy on the ground, Jess had lifted his head to see him coming, but his eyes had quickly found the gun on his hip, for it shone in the sun like a beacon, its identity impossible to miss. Seeing him with the professional sidearm made Andy look more like a man to Jess than he ever had, but similarly, Andy had just fallen like a man, too. Despite the details that Jess had noticed, Andy was still a boy performing a man's duty, yet there was no reason he should have been shot. Unable to make his body respond to Andy's need, Jess searched the rocky landscape above him, hoping his eyes could latch onto the man responsible, but he would never get a chance to see his face.

The rifle had been dropped at the same time a head became bowed and the sheriff that thought he'd finally won victory over a desperate criminal prepared himself to die. He had nothing left, not around him, or inside of him. The horse that he'd used had broken free from his grasp during the dust storm, leaving him alone to further fend for himself. The agonizing walk had been too much for the sheriff's head trauma and he'd stayed sheltered in the rocky hills outside of Sodium Wells, until he heard a horse stepping in the loose rock, saw through a blurry haze a man who needed to pay for his crimes, and then he pulled a trigger only to succumb to his injury that was worsened by the harsh elements of the heat a few minutes later.

"Andy," Jess pleaded through a throat that could barely form the syllables. "Get up, little partner, get up."

Jess slid his hand backward through the dusty gravel until it found his holster and once touching the handle of his weapon, he removed the gun from his belt. He was far from having a steady hand, but with the left supporting the right, Jess pointed a fairly accurate aim at the boulders above Andy's body. With a wince at each squeezing of the trigger, Jess fired three times, in between each ricochet off of a rock, he lifted his voice in a desperate cry of Andy's name in a hopeful attempt to arouse the boy. The sounds did nothing, at least, not for what Jess had intended them for and he put the gun back where it belonged, his head dropping back to the ground in insurmountable grief. Yet the echoes of the gunshots were loud and clear, bouncing around the desert until they met a constantly alert set of ears. Slim. He turned his horse to face the sound of the gunfire and despite the heat that still grappled the earth, he commanded the horse to run.

A cloud of dust lifted into the air as a horse's hooves kicked it up underneath him, following the direction that the man on the horse was directing him. The distance was covered with the same measure of dread and hope, with both emotions having the chance to double together in seismic waves as Slim finally laid eyes on the one he had so long been searching for. He saw the outline of Jess' prostrate body, knowing that it was him before he was fully in focus and when he saw the frame begin to move, everything inside of Slim felt the extra hard thump that his chest made.

"Jess!" Slim was off of his horse before the animal even stopped moving, a canteen in his hand as he took the space from where he landed in the dirt to where Jess' body lay. He dropped to his knees, hearing the difficult gasps of air that Jess was taking, but instead of cringing at the sound, he formed a smile, for it meant that life still had its firm hold in Jess' body. The concern for his partner, however, nudged its way into Slim's core so quickly that the smile was only flashed for a moment. "Jess," Slim repeated, softer, as he placed a gentle hand on Jess' shoulder, the alarm clutching his chest that the water starved man was seemingly unaware of his presence.

There was a crackling noise coming from Jess' throat and Slim lifted the canteen to his lips, moistening them enough that a tongue slipped through to taste it, allowing Jess to break through the garble and whisper, "Andy."

"Andy?" Slim was visibly taken aback, his spine stiffening in fear as he looked down at Jess' brutalized frame.

"Andy…" Jess spoke again after more water touched his throat, his voice being able to portray a tone of urgency, but to Slim it only sounded peculiar, for Jess was calling out the wrong name.

"No, Jess," Slim placed both of his hands on Jess' arms, his senses all over his body as if he'd been covered with goose bumps prickled with concern for his partner. "It's me, Slim."

"Andy…" Jess' voice was even more insistent than before, but Slim still didn't understand.

Slim dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he was hit with the realism that was his partner's condition. Jess was delirious. The heat had affected him, how much more than confusion, Slim didn't know, didn't want to know. Jess' eyes were open, but they weren't seeing him, his ears could obviously hear, but they weren't registering the sound to his brain to tell him which Sherman brother was with him. He had to break through the barrier that the heat had built around Jess.

"Jess," Slim gave Jess a slight shake, "look at me. It's Slim."

"No," Jess nearly growled the word, his chin rising slightly from the ground as if specifically pointing outward. "Andy!"

Watching his partner's movement, Slim saw that Jess wasn't focused on him at all, but on something ahead of them in the rocks. Slim followed Jess' gaze up, over and around several rocks before he saw the leg. A small, thin, tan colored pant leg that could only belong to one person's body. Andy! Slim jumped forward, taking the distance in four long strides and once there, he pulled Andy free from the confined space between the craggy rocks and then knelt down to his knees. Cradling his brother by the shoulders, Slim listened to his quiet breathing and the fast thrumming of the heartbeat and then turned his attention back to Jess. "He's alive."

Slim watched as Jess dropped his head onto his folded arms, lying still to most viewer's eyes, but Slim could see the slight shaking of his partner's body as he radiated the relief that he felt through his trembling soul. Slim's own body should have been responding in a similar manner, and even though his heart wasn't bleeding with grief, it was still clamped tight together with a deeply troubled pain. His partner and his brother were in great need of a doctor, yet there wasn't any way that he could take both Andy and Jess out of the desert with him.

Watching through dusty lashes his partner fight with internal turmoil, Jess raised his head from the rock and sand crusted floor and clutched the canteen that Slim left beside him, taking only a few sips even though his body craved the entire contents of the lake back home. It wet his throat enough that he could swallow without taking a drink, which soothed his aching vocal chords to speak more audibly, even if it was only a few words, but when Jess delivered them, the significance was heard in the short statement that he had solidly placed in his mind before they came through his mouth. He knew the dilemma that Slim was facing and Jess knew that there was only one choice to make, the right one. "Andy first."

Slim knew that Jess was right, as it had been the prioritizing thought inside of his head the moment he'd made the discovery that his brother had a bullet in his body, but leaving Jess in the grave condition that he was in would be just as painful as if he would leave Andy behind instead. Slim gently rested Andy's body back to the ground and went to his horse for a clean cloth to compress the wound. The bullet was in a position that it wasn't threatening any organs, but Slim knew with a brief glance that he wouldn't be skilled enough to get it out on his own. The blood loss and shock were keeping his brother locked in darkness and Slim knew that he couldn't wait much longer to leave. He would go, but he had to have a moment with Jess first.

"You'll have shade from the hill for part of the day and the half full canteen is right beside you. I'll give you the rest of my hardtack, but I'm afraid it's not much," Slim said after he moved Jess' body to be in an upright, seated position. He handed Jess the provisions that he had gathered, set a blanket down beside him and then gave him his coat to use as a cushion for his head. "I know it's not cold, but you might need this at night or if another dust storm comes. One more thing, and it's the most important. Don't you move, Jess. Stay here, right here."

"I ain't going nowhere," Jess responded after another slowly drained sip.

"I'll be back for you, Jess," Slim promised, looking down into shadowed blue eyes that should have been unmistakably his partner's, but they didn't hold any of their usual fire. They were dark, almost haunted, and the description went further than his eyes to cover Jess' entire face. He could see that Jess was exhausted, so tired that he could easily fall to the very depths of sleep which one never woke up from if he let himself. Slim swallowed the thickness in his throat, but it wasn't enough to stop the anguish filled anxiety that gripped his body from being revealed in his voice. "You just hold on, you hear?"

His reply was a mere nod. Jess knew he could promise nothing, but hearing the vow of Slim's return was strength, but he didn't know if that and the meager supply of water and tasteless hardtack would sustain him until Slim's promise was fulfilled. Jess leaned his head against Slim's jacket as he watched his partner ride away, holding Andy in his arms as he turned his mount toward Sodium Wells. He had at least something with substance to cling to, and far after Slim escaped from his sight, Jess held onto the image of the two Sherman brothers, because it might have been the last time he'd ever see them.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Jess?"

Andy's voice jerked every muscle inside of Slim's body enough that the last threads of unconsciousness pulled away from the boy, allowing the pain to trigger in his mind, but also remembering the last man he'd seen before he had hit the dirt. Andy shook his head, the memory of seeing Jess' tortured face was burning in his mind's sight as badly as the bullet hole in his shoulder felt. It hadn't been just a fake image, conjured up in a moment of panic, but Andy knew that what he'd seen had been real. Jess had been real, alive, and right there in front of him before the shot rang out. But where was he now? Why didn't he answer his call?

"Jess?" Andy questioned again, lifting his head enough to see more than just the brown shirt that his face had been pressed into. He was being supported by Slim, riding on a horse that was no longer in the desert, for trees and greenery had replaced the barren brownness that had earlier surrounded him. And Jess was nowhere in sight.

"It's all right, Andy," Slim said soothingly, giving him a comforting rub on the uninjured shoulder.

"Where's Jess?" Even in the boy's injured state, Andy could tell that Slim had stiffened when the question was emitted, like he wanted to avoid the answer, but knew that he couldn't.

"He's still back there," Slim answered quietly, the lowness of his voice portraying the hurt that it had caused him to do so, not just in speaking aloud the reply, but what he had actually done.

"You left him alone?" Andy's voice took on a higher level of fright and he began to thrash in Slim's arms, but a shooting pain from his wound brought him quickly back to stillness.

"I had to," Slim whispered in his brother's ear after securing him against his chest once more, "he wouldn't have had it any other way."

"Jess is going to die," Andy no longer felt like the man that he'd convinced himself in being when he had left the ranch on Cyclone, for tears raced down his cheeks and a tight lump formed in his throat. "Because of me, he's going to die."

"Because of you," Slim said, the own catch in his throat clearly audible, "Jess still has a chance."

"What do you mean?"

"If you hadn't found him," Slim spoke slowly so that the words could both penetrate Andy's head and heart, "I would never have found the both of you. In my own search for him, I was about to give up and return home, and then I heard gunfire which led me straight to Jess."

"Are you mad at me?" Andy asked, twisting his head to try to see his brother's face better. "I mean, for not staying home like you wanted me to."

"No," Slim's face found a smile, and in seeing it, Andy felt relief before Slim continued, "I'm proud that you did. But when all of this is done and finished, don't be surprised if I bring the subject up with some big brother sternness."

"Will this have an end, Slim?" Andy asked, diminishing the smile as it brought another wave of fear to settle inside of both chests.

"You'll be all right, Andy," Slim replied with a nod. "Once I get you to a doctor, you'll be good as new."

"I didn't just mean me," Andy said softly, "I meant for all of us. You, me…" he had to stop and swallow, for the tightness in his throat couldn't go on without doing so, "and Jess."

"I can't answer that, Andy," Slim said, seeing the place where he'd left Jess even more clearly than the road to Laramie that was in front of him. All it took was a blink of his eyes and he could visualize even more than the location, but Jess himself, the memory of his bodily form not bringing a sense of relief because he was alive, but a shudder because of what his partner must have endured. The shackle marks, more like circular gouges out of his ankles and a similar appearance on his wrists, his clothes in tatters, his face a mixture of dirt and blood that further darkened the facial hair on his cheeks, and his overall fragility that could barely even turn himself over all gave a firm testament to what Jess had gone through. Even if Jess had been able to utter more than a few short words, they hadn't had the time to talk about his hellacious journey. Slim could only put together the images of what he'd seen, from the grave of Bruce Stahl to the discovery of Jess' battered body and know that the rest of the story had been bad, beyond description. But through it all, Jess was still alive because the fight that lived inside of him hadn't yet gone out. "I do know this, Andy. Jess isn't going to give up and he wouldn't want us to do so either."

xxx

"Slim?" Jess awoke with a start, his body jerking with his sudden arousal, flinching further with the remembered pain, but sighing as his bleak surroundings came into focus once more. He hadn't even known he'd been asleep, for the darkness that had enveloped him had come upon him in a similar unknown silence as the desert continued to be. Jess looked up to the sky and then back to the dry surface of land, gauging by the depth of shade that the rocky hillside that he was seated against that the afternoon was near completion. His sleep hadn't been long, not enough to touch his real exhaustion, but the longer he would have to sit idle, Jess knew it would return whether he welcomed it or not.

_Slim_, Jess let his mind speak the name this time instead of voice it aloud. If he hadn't been holding a canteen in his hands or have his partner's jacket behind his head, Jess might have discarded what he'd witnessed earlier in the day as a hazy mirage. But Slim had been real, so real that Jess had felt Slim's touch and heard his voice. Andy had been real too, and what a single gunshot had done to the boy was an even sharper dose of reality and sent a different kind of pain inside of Jess' body, a direct jolt in the middle of his heart. There was fear inside of him, even some guilt, but the emotion that outweighed them both was a strong sense of trust. Andy couldn't die and he wouldn't die, as long as Slim was taking care of him and there was no shortage of belief in his partner that he would get the boy the help he needed.

But doing the right thing made the desert an even emptier place. Jess was alone, as he had been since Bruce Stahl had died, but since he'd watched Slim and Andy leave until the land swallowed them up, it was only then that true loneliness settled upon him. He used to be content living life with no one else in it, but like many other things of Jess' past, that was an attitude that would remain in his former years where it belonged. Now, any length of solitude went undesired, but it was even worse when his closest companion was a dead plant that would up and roll away when the next gust of wind would hit.

Jess shifted his position with a groan that quickly turned into a gasp as pain shot through his feet and then hammered through his veins to the top of his legs, not finding an end anywhere as it traveled, but remained in a pulsating throb wherever there had been a wound, great or small in size. There wasn't much that he could do to aid his hurts, for the little water that sloshed in the canteen was needed more down his throat than to temporarily relieve his outer agony. Most of what cried out in pain Jess hadn't even seen yet, maybe it would have been better if he didn't, but any squeamishness that might have existed amidst his overall suffering couldn't compare with what truly was twisting his stomach.

He peeled his socks off, literally, as they clung to his oozing skin it was hard to separate the sores from the tattered fabric. Freed from his abused feet, the once white material fell to the ground in several strips, but their release created every wound to come open, blood and an even thicker liquid started seeping from the bottoms of both feet. Jess groaned as he traced two fingers from where the nail should have been on the big toe on his left foot all the way up to his ankle, stopping at the imprint of the shackles. It was swollen beyond recognition, black in some places, red and puffy everywhere else and the other ankle was its exact match, looking and feeling as if they had been damaged by fire, and in a way, they were.

There were other gouges in his body, his wrists were bloodied and bruised, but not as severely damaged as what the irons had done to his ankles. Jess' abdomen and up to his chest had scrapes and every part of skin that had been exposed was bright red with sunburn and the remaining areas were dry and scaly. There was still a pain in his head, a definite reminder of being decked by the man that had worn the shackles before him, but it no longer trickled blood down his cheek, only adding to an ache in his temples that hadn't been relieved since he'd received the blow.

Jess shivered, but it wasn't dark yet, and as the shady area that he was in wasn't able to fully release the heat that surrounded it, Jess knew that the sudden change in his body was due to fever. He pulled the blanket over him, the added layer seeming strange to need its use in the desert's ever present high temperature, but since no one else could exclaim over his odd choice of covering, Jess snuggled into its warmth to ward off the repeated chill that threatened to shake his body. He wasn't surprised at his newest adversity, since it was directly related to the very first one he'd faced. There had been no cleaning of his wounds, no bandages and no proper care anywhere on his body, injuries or the parts that remained whole, therefore, the more dirt that had embedded into the indentations on his ankles and wrists created the perfect opportunity for infection to begin to grow.

It was too soon for Jess to know how far any sickness would go and even though he was certain that it had already begun, Jess wasn't going to give up. If he could, that would be the statement of truth that he would tell both Andy and Slim, and in their own struggle, Jess would expect them to do the very same.

xxx

Slim reached the Bronson farm at sundown, the gray-haired man that greeted him with alarm as he rode to the front porch promised to take over on the trail as he saddled up to fetch the doctor in Laramie while his wife readied a bed for Andy. Mrs. Bronson offered the same treatment for Slim once Andy was tucked in, but Slim quickly declined. There wasn't any way that Slim could lay his body down in any form of comfort when he knew that Jess was still in the desert with only rocks for his cushion.

While the time seemed to come to a standstill as Slim waited for the doctor's arrival, he paced in and out of Andy's room, checking for any sign of arousal. If the eyes of his brother remained closed, he took the strides back to the main room to a westerly window, looking out but seeing little beyond the glow of the lamplight, for darkness had swallowed up the earth. It was impossible for him to be in two places at once, and with each turn, going back and forth, his body felt the severing between the two needs even stronger than before.

Not long before the sound of a doctor's carriage reached Slim's ears, as he crossed through the doorway to see Andy, he was no longer in a still form. Turning his head to see his big brother enter, Andy's eyes quickly sought Slim's, the similar sheen that they saw in the reflection spoke truthfully enough on what their deepest thoughts were upon. Slim sat down on the edge of the bed, knowing that his brother needed reassurance, but fully aware that he needed a large dose of it himself.

"You're going to go after him, aren't you?" Andy's hand on Slim's arm seemed to implore even louder than the words from his mouth.

"As soon as Doc Sweeney says that you're all right," Slim pointed to the west, tapping the air three times as he gave Andy a short smile, "I'll be heading back out there. I already asked the Bronson's for the use of their wagon and a good, strong team. I'll bring Jess back, I promise. There's the doc coming now. Are you scared, I mean, of what the doc will have to do?"

"I don't think so," Andy shook his head slowly, but he couldn't stop his eyes from growing wide when Doctor Sweeney stepped through the front door. Yet before the physician's hand even touched him, Andy firmly set his jaw similarly to the way Jess would have his clenched under the same circumstance. "I'll make it through just fine."

A bullet was never removed in a rapid fashion, but waiting to hear the piece of lead hit a tin pan felt like it could have been classified as being forever. Slim stood nearby as Doctor Sweeney worked, watching his every movement, wincing as the doctor probed, biting his lip while the knife cut, and nearly forgetting to breathe until the bullet was extracted. He stepped closer then, just in a need to see for himself that Andy's chest was still rising and falling, and as he saw the normal rhythm, Slim stepped backward again, words of gratitude not far from his lips.

"He's a strong, boy, Slim," Doctor Sweeney nodded as he began to stitch up the open wound. "He'll be all right now, I can guarantee it."

The words entered Slim's head, penetrating to the place that had been the most torn in two. Knowing that Andy was going to recover wasn't so much as a glue to patch the tear, but it allowed him the ability to leave and help the other most important person in his life. With one last look at his brother's resting face, Slim went out the door, gaining momentum with each step to the waiting wagon to make a returned trip to the dry country to fulfill a heartfelt promise.

xxx

Jess clenched his jaw, refusing to let his teeth chatter at the same rate that his body quivered. The blanket had helped when the sun was still at its oppressive form, but once the light was completely gone, it couldn't stop the chills from clutching him once more. Jess rolled to his side, not even certain at what direction he was facing, but he gazed into the darkness, wishing he could see beyond the few feet in front of him to wherever Slim and Andy would be. He felt torn, not because of the tearing that his outer flesh had endured, but deep on the inside, because Jess knew that Slim was torn in the same manner.

They were different, he and Slim, but in so many ways, they were alike. In the course of their friendship that had turned to partnership, one had learned from the other, growing together until an unshakeable trust had been formed. Jess would have been the first to admit that he had been the one that had done the most learning and growing, but it had been the perfect blend of both of their unique characteristics that had created in them a brotherly bond that would never become severed. It was this connection that made Jess fully aware of what Slim had endured in leaving him alone and it would be at work in the same way in bringing Slim back. Yet, he would have to hurry, for time was turning to be most critical, and as it was well known that a bullet was never removed in lightning speed from anyone's body, there was no knowledge when a promise would be fulfilled. Only hope that it would.

Cold and heat, back and forth, the difference between day and night battled in Jess' body before the sun made its way back to earth to steal away the blessed darkness. Sometime before dawn's light Jess had fallen asleep, although as often as he tossed and turned, there wouldn't be much one would consider as him having an actual rest. When Jess' eyes became opened again, daylight was fully over the land, but it wasn't this that had awakened him. A strange sound brought his head up, or at least the few inches that he was able to raise it, and saw what was causing the ruckus.

Buzzards. They were swarming, eyeing their delicacy from above, doing their irritating chattering that only brought more of their kind in from afar. There was no point wasting bullets in dropping some of their bodies from the sky, for it wouldn't do enough to discourage the remaining birds to fly to some other appealing desert café. Jess had always hated the scavengers, not just for what they were, but more for what they meant, being an obvious sign of death. In this case, it was his own.

_Dad-gummed filthy varmints, don't even know I ain't dead yet. If they come down here and start pecking at me, some lead in their tail-ends will make 'em know I'm still breathing._

Jess squinted up into the sky as they continued to cackle and gave them another round of silent threats before an intense shiver turned into a wide yawn and Jess tucked into the blanket even tighter, his eyes drifting closed in an attempt to shut out the birds that were preying upon his life. He kept his gun ready, held in his right hand with a finger not far from the trigger just in case they came down to his level, but sleep would end up touching him first. The hovering buzzard's vocal sounds became muted with his sleep, but what Jess didn't know was that they weren't interested in him at all. Not a single beady eye in the sky was even focused on him, but something situated farther up on the hillside.

xxx

Buzzards. Slim pulled the wagon to an abrupt halt, looking up at the circling formation of wide wings, swirling around above the rock covered hills. He could hear their call, like a sick, sinister laughter, as some stood vigil over their meal, while another group swooped down to the ground and the remaining bunch continued to hover in the sky. The reason for their gathering was as obvious as the sun in the sky. Something, or as dread would more readily dictate, someone, was dead.

"No!" Slim's shout should have shook the rocks like an earthquake, but it was filled with so much grievous emotion, it came out as a hoarse whisper instead.

Slim felt every last shred of hope drain out of his body with the deep breath that he exhaled, feeling entirely deflated even when his lungs refilled with air again. He was too late. Jess' body had given out on him, unable to keep fighting even if he had wanted to. Slim pulled his gun, ready to down the swarming scavengers if any were too close to his downed partner. Jess was too good of a man to be buzzard bait, too good of a man to die alone in a desert, too good to be buried at the bottom of a dry, rocky hill, because he was just entirely that, a good man.

Slim jumped from the wagon and ran around the base of the hill, uncertain what his eyes would see when he got there, afraid at the same moment that the sight would make him ill, angry, grief filled and guilty, or somehow a violent mixture of them all. Once the final step was taken, Slim almost slid to a stop, as Jess' body was lying completely still, positioned on his side with his back to Slim's face, partially covered with a blanket, but peaceful. Being wrapped up tight in the middle of the day indicated to Slim that Jess must have passed away in the night, asleep where no additional pain could seize him at his final heartbeat, yet still protected from the wrath of the hungry buzzards above. Slim's breath was held as he stepped closer and kneeling to the ground, he reached out a hand to pull the blanket the remaining length to cover Jess' dead body and as a finger touched the fabric, a lightning fast reaction whipped the blanket free and a gun was pointed directly in Slim's stunned face.

_Dad-gum, Slim,_ Jess dropped his gun hand back to the ground, not even realizing that the words that he said were only being spoken inside of his head. _I thought you was one of them feathered scoundrels coming to peck my hide._

"You're not dead," Slim said, the astonishment and relief sounded in his voice with a near exclamation.

_Of course I ain't dead,_ Jess shook his head, still only vocalizing his responses silently. _It feels like I ain't been far from it for awhile, but I'm still here._

"Can't you talk, Jess?" Slim's face developed a puzzled frown that Jess didn't understand.

_Can't talk?_ Jess looked up at Slim, wondering if the heat had got to more than just his own head, but was now affecting Slim's mind as well. _What do you think I've been doing? Having a conversation with one of them mangy buzzards up there? _When Jess pointed to the sky referring to the birds that still swarmed in multitudes, it suddenly struck him that his mouth had never opened at all and the only place where the words that Jess had formed were heard was inside of his own mind.

"That's all right," Slim quickly looked up to where Jess pointed and then over his shoulder where he'd left the wagon, "you'll feel better soon. I brought lots of water, filled up every bucket I could get my hands on at the Bronson's place in Tumbler Creek before I hit the dry lands. I'll bring some over."

Jess followed Slim's walk to the wagon with his eyes and when he saw the bucket emerge in his hands with water up to its rim, a whoop rang in his mind loud enough that he thought it would have scared the buzzards clear away if it had come from his throat instead. Jess put his hands on the bucket and since he had taken notice that Slim had mentioned multiple pails full, after taking a short drink, he dumped the remaining contents over his head. The water did more than douse his hair and flush a layer of dust down his cheeks, it cooled his temples and eased its throb, creating a clearer connection between mind and mouth. The droplets trickling over his parted lips were enough to help him sputter a singular question that was now the most important to know its answer, "Andy?"

"He's going to be fine," Slim nodded, feeling relief in finally hearing the sound of his partner's voice, even if it was at a far different level than bold and gravelly. "He'll have a nice scar to show off once he goes back to school but he's all right."

The smile that Jess formed was enough to convey what he was feeling, but no amount of gratefulness could hide the torment that filled his being. Everything about Jess screamed with pain, and when Slim retrieved another bucket and started to rinse the open, gnarly wounds, a silent scream filled Slim's being too. There wasn't any way that Slim could understand the trauma, both physically and mentally that Jess had endured until the story was relayed to his ears. As much as he wanted to learn the truth of what led up to Jess' current condition, Slim also knew that the retelling from Jess' standpoint could add more suffering than what his partner was already feeling, if he even could.

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to," Slim said quietly, still pouring water on Jess' damaged feet, although he knew that the liquid could only do a small part in aiding its need for healing.

"Later." It was another singular word, but it was much clearer than the previous one.

"You know Jess," Slim looked back up at the black wings soaring against the backdrop of the blue sky. "They're not interested in you, but they sure aren't flying around for the sake of nothing. There has got to be something dead somewhere. I guess I better go find out what."

Slim was gone only a few minutes, and when he returned, he knelt down beside Jess and pointed higher into the rocks above them, "it's a dead man all right. Wearing a sheriff's badge."

"Talmon." If Jess remembered a name that he'd only heard once, maybe his mind hadn't been fully turned into mashed potatoes by the heat after all.

"Who?" Slim watched Jess open his mouth but with a shake of his head he continued before Jess could utter another singular response, "never mind, I probably can make a fair guess by the story that Mose gave me a few days back. He was one of the lawmen transporting Bruce Stahl, the one no one could find any trace of. He was up there in the rocks, badly wounded by the looks of him and he shot Andy because he was just about the right size and shape of the escaped convict." Jess gave a slight nod, their assumptions coming together in an accuracy that didn't need descriptive details voiced aloud to fill in the blanks, except for one. "I found his grave," Slim added quietly. "You kill him?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's all a part of that later that you mentioned," Slim gave Jess a reassuring pat on the back. "You just rest, and I'll go bury the sheriff. When I'm done, we can go home."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

They had been eastbound for five hours and visually the desert's wrath was behind them, but to the still form lying in the back of the wagon, the affects of its toxicity still held on tight. Slim knew that Jess was sick from the moment the gun had been in his face, as just one look at him was evidence enough of that everything that he had endured physically had added another stout punch to his system. Not even a hundred feet of scenery would pass before Slim would turn his body to look at Jess, again and again he did so, making sure that Jess was still fighting with all of his might. He was, but Jess was doing it in the form of unconsciousness, for he had been dwelling in his own darkness since Slim had slapped the reins on the backs of the horses to get them in a forward motion.

The Bronson farm came into view at dusk, with Mr. Bronson doing the duties once more in going for the doctor, but Slim wasn't planning on using the family's guest room for Jess' care as he had done before with Andy, but to take him all the way home. Slim wanted Jess at the ranch, as home was the most fitting place to be, citing in his head the worst case scenario, although the explanation was never made out loud. Once stopped at the hitching rail, Slim gave Jess another worried glance, but his attention was quickly diverted when Andy stepped out of the Bronson's house. His face was pale and his arm was in a sling, and even though Slim felt relief in seeing his brother on his feet and in a much healthier state than when he'd left him in Mrs. Bronson's guest bed, the concern for Jess outweighed any elation. The distressed emotion quickly spread to Andy, for he darted to the wagon without any regard for the searing jolt that touched his line of stitches.

"Is Jess all right?" Andy asked, clutching the side of the wagon with his free hand. "He looks…" the brown eyes darted up to search his brother's face, "even worse than before."

"He's in bad shape, Andy," Slim answered, knowing that he couldn't skirt around the truth. "We best get him home where we can properly tend to him. Mr. Bronson's going to have the doctor meet us there."

Helping Andy into the wagon seat beside him, Slim thanked Mrs. Bronson for all of her help and promised that he would send Ben back with the wagon once they got Jess safely into bed. The ride home was spent mostly in solitude, as Andy joined Slim with similar frequency of glances to the wagon bed, with no need to mention every few minutes that there wasn't any change to be seen. There was a sense of relief, however, when Slim pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the house, for Doctor Sweeney was waiting for them at their front door.

Slim instructed Andy to remain outside, not wanting his brother to know the details of Jess' injuries. It was painful enough for his own eyes to view the damage that had been done to his partner, and Slim didn't think it wise for Andy to absorb the same scenes. Slim stood still as the doctor worked, not liking or even understanding the "hmm" and "uh-huh" noises that came through the physician's lips every few minutes. The two worded, "not good," was clear enough, however, and Slim couldn't stop the quiver that started at the top of his back that went all the way down to his toes.

"There's not much more that I can do for him," Doctor Sweeney said as he snapped his medical bag closed. "The bandages will need to be changed every morning and his wounds kept clean. That fever's likely to be a stubborn one so try to get him to drink if he'll take it and keep a cool cloth on his head. Medicine and care can only do so much, though, so the rest will be up to his own strength and determination."

"Well, we know that he has plenty of that," Slim said with confidence, gazing down at Jess' sleeping form.

"Well, he _had_ plenty of that," Doctor Sweeney said with so much emphasis on the way that he had changed Slim's choice of words that Slim whipped his head sharply around with eyes flashing and a rosy tone quickly developing in his cheeks to stare at the doctor.

"What do you mean?"

"Every man has the fight inside of him to live," Doctor Sweeney said with too much somberness in his voice, "but Jess has been fighting and fighting and fighting and too much has gone out of him. Just look at him, Slim. A man can only take so much. Given a number of blows, any one of us could fall."

"Not Jess," Slim said, the sharp tone to his voice was like glass breaking somewhere.

"I'll check back in on him in a day or two," Doctor Sweeney returned his hat to his head, knowing that there wasn't any point in arguing his patient's overall condition with the man's best friend and with a step toward the door, he added, "I'll see myself out. Don't forget to make sure that Andy takes it easy with that shoulder."

"Sure, Doc," Slim barely worded his reply as he heard the doctor exit the house.

There had been no shortage of urgency or fear inside of Slim when the possible death of Jess had been reported and his search to discover its truth began. Everywhere in the hazards of the dry country, even after the discovery that the grave didn't belong to Jess, Slim had been prepared to find that the only thing left alive of his partner was a memory. But now Jess was no longer lost out in the desert, he was home, right there in front of him and Slim was still holding onto the same fear.

"You've made it this far, Jess," Slim spoke softly, not knowing if Jess could hear him or not. "I know you're not going to give up now."

"The chains, Slim," Jess suddenly said, hearing in muted tones his partner's voice from afar, but what he saw wasn't comforting surroundings, but the barren wasteland of suffering. "The chains, they, ah, ow… help me," his words finished with a groan and a twist of his body as he recoiled against the persistent pain and the haunting memories that still existed inside of his mind.

"The chains are gone, Jess," Slim gently put his hands on Jess' shoulders. "You're safe, you're right here at home."

"It's hot," Jess breathed in the air that was around him, but it still felt like a torch had touched his lungs, "I ain't gonna make it outta the heat. Slim, the shackles, the shackles are like fire."

"Your ankles and wrists are free," Slim said soothingly, trying to reach through the barrier that was inside of Jess so that he could understand the depth of his words. "The shackles can't hurt you anymore. They were just outward binders, not something that could harness your heart. You've always been unshackled, nothing can chain your spirit, nothing can ever really hold you down. You're Jess Harper. That name says enough right there. You just hold on, Pard, you're going to make it through this."

Jess went quiet, but also blessedly, his body went still, not writhing in his affliction as he dropped into a different level of slumber. Somewhere inside of him, Jess was still chained to the desert. The heat from the fever was like the heat of the land that had contained him and until the temperature inside of Jess was broken, the desert was still alive. Slim sunk to the bed next to Jess, clasping his hands together in front of him, only looking up once when Andy entered the room. There was nothing either of them could do, for they could only touch the surface of Jess' need and couldn't go to the depths where the pulsating fire resided.

Day turned into night, but nothing changed. Night turned into a new day, and everything was the same. The only difference in the room was that Slim and Andy had switched positions, as Andy was seated on the bed next to Jess, and Slim rested his shoulder against the wall between the two bunks. Neither one could take their eyes off of Jess, but both bodies would flinch with every groan or movement that came from the sick man's bed. The following gasp that came through Jess' lips did more than make them jump, but it was enough to make man and boy want to cry.

"I need rain, God, please, make it rain again," Jess whispered, his hands clawing the blanket away from him as if it was too much to bear.

"What's he talking about, Slim?" Andy asked with a shudder to his frame. "It hasn't rained here all summer."

"I know," Slim answered grimly. "There's no way for us to know what Jess sees, hears and feels right now. We best bathe his face again, Andy. I'll go get some fresh water from the well."

"Need…rain…" Jess barely breathed the words.

It wasn't really a dream, for they were reserved for those that were asleep, but as Jess hovered on the edge of a fevered form of wakefulness, the images that he saw were as clear as if they were his reality. He lay on the desert floor, his back to its dry, hard surface, as the heat threatened to turn him into the very dust that was beneath him. He looked up to the sky, but the bright, brilliant blue had nothing to offer him. No relief, no help, no hope. He gasped, the sound in his throat not meriting the agony that he actually felt as the heat pressed down on him like he was covered by a heavy blanket. Why did it have to be so unbearably hot? If only it would rain. It had saved him before and Jess knew it could save him again, but there was nothing in the sky but blue.

A cool breeze touched him first, and Jess turned his face to meet it. He couldn't find where it had come from, but it was there. Imagination couldn't create something that felt so refreshing. Jess searched everywhere, but there were still no clouds. He breathed as deeply as his body allowed, smelling the aroma, tasting the change that was in the air. There was moisture there and it would battle the heat, settle the dust, but most importantly, it was coming to him. The first drop was on his lips now.

"Slim, look," Andy's voice was quiet, afraid that even speaking above a whisper could alter what he was viewing. Jess began to move, not in a frightening, fevered response as he had before, but turned his face, reacting to the damp cloth that Andy brushed over his cheeks, lashes and mouth, giving an extra squeeze over his lips.

It was raining. Unlike the torrent of the thunderstorm, what dripped onto Jess' skin was like a fine mist, blown onto his face in soft waves of life-saving moisture. The water soaked into his hair, trickled down the side of his cheek and rested on his lips. The sky was shimmering now, like the surface of a lake, sparkling with the multitude of raindrops that were cascading down to meet him, a gentle waterfall from heaven made only for him. Jess reached his hand out to touch it, and as the dewdrops hit his palm, a hand came from above and clasped onto his own. At that moment, everything around him was as it should have been.

"Welcome home, Pard."

"Slim?" Jess blinked his eyes twice and felt pressure on his palm as Slim gripped his outstretched hand. Jess knew the strength behind that clasp and nodded his head with the acknowledgement of his partner, but there was another he needed to see. "Andy?"

"I'm right here, Jess," Andy's voice turned Jess' head to meet his and a smile grew on a weary face.

"You're going to be all right, Jess," Slim said, unable to contain his own smile. "The worst is over."

"The shackles, Slim," Jess removed his hand from Slim's, holding his wrist up in front of his face to get the full view that they were still gone, moving his ankles at the same time, and although there was pain in his feet, they were completely iron free. "They're gone, they're all gone, back in the desert where they belong." There was a contented sigh that filled the span of a brief pause, before a poignant, "I'm free."

"Rest easy, now, Pard," Slim said as Jess' eyelids began to flutter back closed. There was a difference this time as Jess fell into a more natural sleep. There was a peacefulness not only in the way Jess was lying still, with even breathing and more color in his cheeks, but it was a feeling that spread out into the remainder of the room. It brought an embrace between two brothers who could finally apply Jess' last words to their own selves, for they, too, had been set free.

There was a magnitude of difference in the air two full days later, not just in the fact that the sun wasn't shining, but in how the mood was set in the Sherman house, without tension, but glowing with the light of elation. Slim was in the kitchen, tapping into the days of the past with the memory of Jonesy by his side to make the best breakfast he'd ever cooked. Andy had just entered the front door, sniffing the aroma of flapjacks and bacon and with a contented smile, he turned in the direction of the bedroom.

"Morning, Jess," Andy said, walking through the door. "Finally looks like it's going to be a cooler, cloudy day."

"Good to know. Hey, you ain't wearing your sling anymore," Jess said, noticing Andy's free arm as soon as he entered the room.

"Yeah," Andy nodded, touching the quickly healing wound with his hand. "It was more of a hindrance than a help, but if Doc Sweeney stops by, don't tell him I took it off."

"You won't hear me tattling."

"Thanks. Are you feeling better, Jess?" Andy grew a half smile to his face as he shifted his voice from question to statement. "You certainly ate your weight at suppertime last night, that's always a good sign."

"You bet, and I'm aiming to do the same with breakfast this morning," Jess swung his legs around to the edge of the bed, reached for his pants and stuck his legs into them. "'Cept I'm gonna do it at the table."

"Do you think you can walk?" Andy asked with a note of urgency in his voice, not wanting Jess to do too much, too soon.

"I don't know, but I'm dad-gum gonna give it a good try," Jess said as he fastened his pants closed. "There, I'm ready."

"Hey, Slim, come in here," Andy called to his brother in the kitchen.

"What're you calling him for? I can do it on my own," Jess tried to pull himself upright but tottering more than he liked, he kept his backside on the bed just as Slim walked through the bedroom door. "All right, I reckon I do need some help, just give me another minute."

"Whatever you say, Jess," Andy said, holding back a tickle of laughter.

"Ok, let's try it again," Jess put his feet on the ground and looked up at Andy who stepped closer to his side. "By the way, ain't you supposed to be back in school by now? They didn't kick you out 'cause you got hurt did they? If they did, they're gonna get a strongly worded letter from me, or at least, using words that I can spell anyway."

"Don't worry Jess," Andy said as he helped Jess to stand. "I'm going to go back to school. I don't think they'd kick me out since Slim has already paid for this term, and besides, for the same reason, I don't think Slim would let me not go back."

"Jonesy sent a telegram last night confirming that Andy will just go back a month later than scheduled," Slim further explained as he held out a steadying hand when Jess wobbled as he got to his feet. "He'll be behind some of his classmates, but this boy has done a lot of growing up recently, so I know he'll catch up quick."

"I'll probably have to keep going to classes through next summer to make up for what I missed, so I don't know when I'll get to come back home, though."

"We'll always be here when you do, Andy," Slim said with a smile.

"Yep," Jess nodded, taking his first step, followed by another and then two more without the aid of any helping hands. "And see that, Andy, I can do it, so I reckon I'll still be able to race you to the kitchen, at least, maybe in another day or two."

"See Jess, what'd I tell you? Nothing can hold you down," Slim said, reaching out to give Jess a friendly slap to his back.

Jess gave Slim an odd glance, not knowing when those words had been spoken, but they were as true as the genuine amount of love that radiated through the room. There was nothing that could chain Jess' spirit. An outlaw had tried, the shackles had tried, and the desert had tried the hardest of all, but they could never win. Victory resided over these things because of what resided in the heart.


End file.
